Haplessly Ever After
by mad margaret
Summary: The Willie Loomis World Series, Part 7 (the finale). Act I: Willie struggles to balance his vampire servant job and marriage to Maggie. Act II: Adventures at Wyndcliff. Act III: Willie gets involved in yet another of Julia's experiments. Willie/Maggie, Barnabas/Julia, Adam, Carolyn and more.
1. Exposition

**A/N: **#7 in the _Willie Loomis World Series_. Previous stories, in chronological order, are _Little Willie, Globetrotters, The Maine Event, Changes, This Old House_ and _Interlude_. If reference is made to a character or event you don't recognize, it's probably from one of the earlier installments.

The time period is different from the original source material. The first story begins in December 1956. Willie is 25 years old at the beginning of this story.

Willie's thoughts are _italicized._ Barnabas' unspoken communications to Willie are _italicized and underlined._

Visit me on Facebook (name Mad Margaret) or at LiveJournal, where the series appears with photos (name Lizzie_Bathory)

**Warnings: **Willie's usual colorful language, and a little sex and violence.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own _Dark Shadows_ or any otherwise copyrighted material contained herein.

* * *

**Part I**

**November 1982**

Willie Loomis was bat shit crazy, or at least on a one-way street in that direction.

He had known about it for a while, and made a concerted effort to act normal at the grocery store, with his wife, at his job, at his other job…but just the idea of getting through the day was overwhelming. At night would come some pretty messed up dreams, but then he'd wonder if they were dreams after all; it was quite possible that shit had really happened.

The boy remembered at one time belonging to a vampire. He also remembered becoming a vampire, and for a while that was cool. That was when he acquired his black leather jacket, although it got ripped in a fight with the Collinsport Ghoul a/k/a Harry Johnson. Afterwards, Willie gave up his bloodsucking career to please his wife. Of course, Maggie wasn't his wife then; she wouldn't even go out with him when he was dead.

Then, just a few months later, Willie Loomis was married to the girl he loved, and he wasn't exactly sure how he managed that. Why would Maggie marry a Brooklyn bum when she was engaged to the handsomest, most mild-mannered guy in town? You see, now that's what didn't make sense. But it wasn't a dream; there was a ring on his finger, and a matching one on hers.

Her father, Sam Evans, didn't like the hoodlum turned handyman, not one bit. Then, suddenly, he had insisted the couple get hitched and there they were, standing in front of a judge at town hall. It was a Wednesday morning. The young man wore a second-hand suit Julia helped him purchase, and Victoria Winters stood to one side holding a bouquet of violets. Maggie's dad sat at the back of the room while her former boyfriend, Joe, paced in the hallway.

It would have been nice to have had a best man, someone on his side, but Willie had no friends. Jason was dead, and Barnabas was dead too—sort of. Buzz, while not dead, had ridden his motorcycle off into the sunrise to find greener pastures and pursue his academic interests on the highway to heavy metal heaven.

It was a quickie wedding, the result of a whirlwind romance—which was a nice way to describe what had happened. Maggie and Willie had taken off for Bangor late one Friday afternoon for the much anticipated date she once promised on a whim. Because of the ruffian's unsavory reputation, Maggie was somewhat less than forthcoming to her father about their plans.

It had started out as a quiet dinner at a respectable restaurant with a moderately-priced bottle of wine, but ended up in a hotel room for a raucous weekend of eating and wearing pizza, guzzling rum with Hawaiian Punch, and making up for a lot of lost time. When the couple sneaked back into the Evans cottage on Monday afternoon, Sam, Joe and Sheriff Patterson were waiting for them. The police officer discreetly looked the other way as his two friends slugged the troublemaker.

That evening, Willie returned to the Old House with trepidation. _Holy fugnuggets_, if Joe and Sam had been that mad, what was Barnabas going to do? He sat on the floor near his master's coffin, contemplating the injustice of his situation. He and Maggie Evans were both consenting adults. It was not as if he had kidnapped and raped the girl. Yes, during those three days, one of them should have picked up the telephone, but they didn't think about that—or chose not to.

The coffin lid creaked open and the vampire alit as Willie mentally prepared himself for the inevitable. Barnabas looked down at his senseless servant, a purple bruise on the boy's cheekbone evident even by the dim candlelight, and shook his head.

"Why do you and good judgment continually remain at odds?" he sighed.

"I d-dunno. I'm sorry."

"Are you now? Are you genuinely sorry for what you've done?"

His left leg started to bounce. "Uh…no."

"You do realize everyone thought Miss Evans had been abducted again? I had to bear false witness as to your whereabouts when search parties appeared at my threshold. And why? Because whenever there is wrongdoing in the village, the first suspect is invariably my manservant. Count yourself fortunate; had she been my daughter, you would be in a stockade and horsewhipped."

"I just w-wanted—"

Barnabas brought up the young man by the shoulders. "Thoughtless, selfish boy, what a disappointment you are to Julia and me." He retreated up the stairs, leaving Willie more troubled than relieved.

The vampire's displeasure compounded at the revelation that his servant was getting married and moving out of the Old House, both without permission. Julia reminded her husband that he was the boy's employer now, not his owner. Barnabas scoffed at the absurdity of modern times.

Of course, his boss hadn't attended Willie's wedding but, at Julia's insistence, paid for the suit and the rings, and gifted the couple with $100, the equivalent of two years' salary for a literate servant in his day. Barnabas considered it more of an apology to the Evans family. He also afforded the lad the time and means with which to document his existence, as he could not apply for a marriage license without a birth certificate or Social Security card. To everyone's great relief, Willie's blood test came back negative of any abnormalities.

So Mr. and Mrs. Loomis lived happily ever after.


	2. What Dreams May Come

**Chapter 2 – What Dreams May Come**

"Maggie!" Willie ran through down the slope towards Widow's Hill, snow crunching underfoot. "Come back!"

But Maggie would not stop. Racing ahead until she reached the precipice, the young woman stood there, her cloak billowing wildly in the winter wind.

He caught up, but Barnabas got there first, locked with Maggie in a concupiscent embrace. Willie leaped, fists swinging, but the monster effortlessly flung him to the ground. Maggie pulled away, looked dispassionately at the two men, and, without comment, threw herself from the cliff.

"NOOO!" Willie yelled, scrambling to the earth's edge. "Don't leave me alone!"

"She knew too much to live," Barnabas explained, pulling the boy to his feet. As Willie began to sob, his master struck him sharply on the shoulder with his wolf head cane. "Shut up, and stop being so emotional. You have no rights. You get nothing. Now, return to the Old House and go back to work. That's where you belong."

Willie was still weeping as he stood in the candlelit bathroom, but his tears were made of blood which cascaded down his cheeks in fragmented red rivers. Horrified, he stared at himself in the mirror as his reflection faded to nothing and only the blood remained, suspended in thin air.

But he hadn't disappeared, because when he turned around, Sam Evans was there, aiming his shotgun. He fired at point blank range, and the young man heard the mirror shatter as his brains splattered the wall.

Willie woke up clutching his pillow, backed up to where the mattress met the wall. He hoped to hell he had not screamed just then. _It was just another dream_. He often had disturbing dreams, almost every night, that's what Maggie said. He made so much noise in his sleep that the landlord twice slipped notes under their door, telling the young couple to quiet down their kinky sexcapades.

Willie lay on the mattress in their otherwise empty apartment, watching Maggie hook her bra, illuminated by the blue nightlight. She was getting pretty fat, he thought, but that was okay, it happens to ladies after they're married. Besides, he liked where she was growing larger.

"Where ya goin'?"

"Home." She pulled on a pair of stretch pants. "I have to get some rest."

"I'm sorry; don't go. I'll be quiet."

"It's not just the hollering." Maggie pulled an oversized sweatshirt over her head. "You can't stay still for five minutes. Just now you almost hit me in the face again. What will people say if I show up for work with a black eye?"

"They'll think I beat you up, and your pop will shoot me. My bloody brains will go splat on the wall."

"Lovely." She sat on the mattress and brushed back the bangs from his eyes. "Honey, I'm sorry, but if I leave now, I can still catch a few hours sleep." The young man pulled her into his arms and held tight. Now she wouldn't be able to go. "Willie, this is not normal; you've got to get help, please go to a doctor."

"And say what?" He looked bewildered.

"What do you think? That you have horrible nightmares all the time. You cry and yell and thrash around, and wake up screaming. Then you lie there trembling with glassy eyes while I apologize to the neighbors who've been banging on the walls."

"…I don't really cry."

"Get me a tape recorder and I'll prove it. Why are you so terrified? Is it something from the mysterious past you won't tell me about, or is it Mr. Barnabas Collins?" The last part of her question revealed a hint of sarcasm.

"I don't remember," he lied. "Why would I be af-fraid of Barnabas?"

She pulled away and stared at him. "Oh, maybe because he's a vampire who sucked out your soul, beat you and forced you to work like a slave in that freezing, filthy hellhole. Then he kidnapped me and tried to kill both of us. Stop me when any of this starts to sound familiar."

"Did I tell you that?" He laughed apologetically.

"Yes, you did, because two months of my life were erased from memory, thanks to that devious doctor who protects him as much as you do!"

Willie buried his face in his hands. "Why are you yellin' at me?"

"I'm not yell—!" she regained her composure. "Look, I don't want to upset you. I get that you've blocked a lot of this from your mind, but I haven't; I'm reminded every time I see those scars on your back."

"I'm sorry; I'll keep my shirt on."

"That's not the—never mind." Maggie kissed her husband. "_Please_ go see Dr. Woodard today."

"It's fine, I already talked to Dr. Hoffman, and she gave me some pills. Three dif'rent kinds."

"That woman should have her license revoked." His young wife shook her head. "I hope you're not mixing them up with the ones she gave you before."

_Shit, I hope not, too._ "I was real careful and wrote on the labels."

Maggie stood up and put on her coat. "I'll see you at breakfast. Will you pick up bagels and cream cheese on the way?"

"Nope, 'cause you're gettin' fat." He smiled impishly.

"That's funny, Loomis. Keep it up and you'll be the one with a black eye."

"I love you."

"I love you too. See you at home." Maggie closed the door quietly behind her as she left, so she wouldn't disturb the neighbors.

* * *

_Home._ That's what she called her pop's cottage where she grew up, and that was understandable. Their dinky studio apartment wasn't much of a home. There was a mattress, an alarm clock and a thrift store lamp on the floor. What passed for the kitchen took up part of one wall, next to the postage stamp bathroom, where you had to step over the toilet to get to the shower.

But Willie called it the Party Palace. It had a sizzling radiator, electricity, hot running water, refrigerator and a gas stove. The roof didn't leak and the windows weren't cracked. It cost a bit more than the newlyweds could afford, but was necessary if they were to have any privacy.

Sam wanted his little girl at home as much as possible, but Willie didn't feel welcome there. He was uncomfortable in Maggie's bedroom and the idea of Mr. Evans listening from next door was enough to deflate anyone's enthusiasm. Likewise, and for a myriad of reasons, Maggie refused to go into the Old House, where her husband's old quarters were still available.

Willie turned on the bedside lamp and reached over to the three prescription bottles on the floor. There were pills to make him sleep, pills to help him stay awake, and an antidepressant to fight the demons. In order to keep them straight, he had drawn an up arrow, a down arrow and a smiley face on the labels. He was about to pop a sleeping pill when the telephone rang.

It couldn't be Maggie. She had just left, and no one else would call him, let alone in the middle of the night—except for Dr. Hoffman. It seemed like a good idea when she had talked Barnabas into installing phone service in the Old House, but then shit like this happened.

"Whadda ya want, Julia? It's 2 o'clock in the mornin'."

"I apologize for disturbing you, but you know the timing of these things is crucial. I need you to drive me to Maine Coast Memorial for a pickup."

"No," he whined. "I'm sleepin'."

"Take an amphetamine; do you remember which ones they are?"

Willie sighed. "The orange ones with the up arrow."

"Good boy. I'll expect you in 15 minutes." She hung up.

The young man reached over to the pile of his clothes on the floor and began to get dressed. It was lucky Maggie wasn't there, because she would have had a hissy fit at the way Julia and Barnabas expected her husband to be at their beck and call 24/7. And then she would demand to know why they were driving to hospitals all over the state in the dead of night, meeting creepy characters at back doors, and exchanging large amounts of cash for ice coolers containing—well, Willie didn't know exactly. He didn't want to know. Maybe stolen blood for Barnabas but, more than likely, it was equipment for another one of the good doctor's crazy ass experiments.


	3. Long Day's Journey into Night

Willie got home a half hour before it was time to get up, so there was no sense going back to bed. He took a long, steamy shower and put on yesterday's clothes. His clean stuff was stored at the Old House and his laundry was currently at the Evans Cottage, which is where he headed with bagels and cream cheese, as he was asked to do.

"Shh, Pop's still sleeping," Maggie answered the door. "Geez, Willie, you've got bags under your eyes. Didn't you get any rest after I left?"

"I sleep better when you're there."

"I know, honey. We'll try again tonight." She took the grocery bag from him and set it on the kitchen table. "Pop has some work for you today. It's on the easel."

"Good." Willie enjoyed making the frames for the artist's paintings. It gave him a chance to practice a real skill instead of the menial labor that usually occupied his days and evenings. And Sam seemed to approve of the woodwork, if not the carpenter. But no matter; after living with Barnabas, the boy was accustomed to working without compliment or compensation.

Mr. Evans appeared in the kitchen doorway, looking like a train wreck.

"Mornin', sir," Willie ventured.

"Yes, I know it's morning; thanks for that brilliant observation. Now get out of my chair," the older man growled as Willie quickly exchanged seats.

"Pop, be nice." Maggie helped her dad sit down and kissed his cheek. "Willie brought us breakfast, see?"

"I don't want anything, just coffee, sweetheart." He sneered at his good-for-nothing son-in-law. "So, maybe you'll get a decent job today."

"He already has two jobs," Maggie called from across the kitchen.

"And they don't pay enough to feed a parakeet."

"It's not his fault I only pay minimum wage."

"He's too old to be a busboy. How do you ever expect to support a family, huh, Loomis? Maybe you should have thought of that before you unzipped—"

"Pop." His daughter's voice had a warning tone as she set three mugs of steaming coffee on the table.

"Look at him, staring into space like the village idiot. He needs to accept some responsibility because you're not going to sling hash at that diner for much longer."

"But I'm the manager now," Maggie corrected him. "And _head_ hash slinger. And someday, who knows? I'm thinking of taking some college classes in Business."

Sam harrumphed at that notion. "And where will you find the time and money for that?"

"When you become rich and famous…"

Willie had already zoned out. With a butter knife, he carved designs into the cream cheese on his bagel, only vaguely aware of the conversation going on. The next time the young man looked about, Maggie and her dad were on the sofa. He was snoring and she had her feet propped up on coffee table, watching _Good Morning, Maine_ on TV. Almost half an hour had passed.

Willie cleared the breakfast plates, then went through the house, dumping ashtrays and picking up empty bottles and glasses. When the dishes were washed and dried, he swept the kitchen floor and proceeded to clean the bathroom.

"Bring me the laundry basket and I'll fold some wash while I'm sitting here." Maggie kissed him when he returned to take her empty coffee mug. "I know you work hard. Maybe, under the circumstances, Mr. Collins would give you a raise. Either that or tell him to find himself another flunky."

Willie looked uncertain. "I'll ask." The boss didn't like to part with his cold cash; he surmised that domestic staff should be satisfied with receiving room and board, with perhaps a small stipend at Christmas. A reward from Barnabas used to be not getting smacked across the room. "Your pop didn't wash out his brushes again. I'll rinse them off before I get started on that frame."

It was almost noon when Willie finished, but the final product looked quite professional. He set the framed portrait back on the old man's easel and grabbed his jacket. Maggie was napping in her room. He tiptoed in and kissed her softly.

"I'm headin' over to the Old House now. See you later."

* * *

"Willie, you're late." Dr. Hoffman sat at the parlor desk and looked up from her notes. "There are crates in the hallway for you to take upstairs to the lab."

"Julia, I need a raise. Sam Evans is ridin' my ass to make more money."

"Not now. Those boxes have been sitting there all morning. Then please drive me over to Collinwood." She observed his forlorn expression. "We can talk about it later. I doubt that Barnabas will be amenable—but I'll see what I can do." She patted his arm. "After all, this experiment wouldn't be possible without your help."

"I don't mind, as long as it don't involve donatin' blood. That didn't work out so good last time."

The woman smiled. "I think you'll be quite pleased with the results. Now get started. We have a busy day."

Willie spent the afternoon fetching and carrying, scrubbing and sweeping, cleaning out the fireplaces and chopping firewood. Gone were the days when he could use the chainsaw at Collinwood and enjoy a hot lunch twice a week with Mrs. Johnson. She was retired with a comfortable sum and had moved away to live with her daughter in Florida, where it was always warm and sunny.

The young man was pretty sure he had spent time in Miami with his old pal, who had business deals with Cubans, or something like that. That was a long time ago; Jason McGuire was dead now, although he still showed up occasionally.

It got dark so early at that time of year, the Old House servant lit the basement candles at 4:30 in anticipation of Barnabas' rising. He must have dozed off, because the next thing Willie realized, he was slumped on the floor and the vampire was glaring down at him.

"Please sleep on your own time, not whilst I am paying you," Barnabas snapped.

The boy scrambled to his feet. "Yeah, about that—"

"I trust you otherwise made good use of the day. Julia said you gave her a difficult time about an errand. I do not wish to reprimand you again on that subject." He retrieved his walking stick and closed the lid to the coffin.

"Speakin' of money—"

"I beg your pardon?" Barnabas turned with a raised brow. "Are we having two separate conversations?"

Willie hung his head. "No, sir."

"Very well." The vampire proceeded up the steps and his servant followed. "What have you read today?"

"Nothin' yet."

"I instructed you to begin _Hamlet_ and you disappoint me yet again. How do you hope to better yourself when you resist my every effort to help you?"

"I dunno. If ya let me take somethin' home, I-I could read after work maybe."

The vampire snorted at the mention of _home_. In his day a servant's personal life in no way interfered with that of his master. "This is not a lending library, certainly not with the way you handle books."

Barnabas was often snippy first thing in the evening. Fortunately Julia met him in the parlor with a warm mug filled with his equivalent of morning coffee. The vampire kissed her hand and settled into his favorite wing back chair. Willie shuffled over to stoke up the fire.

"I do not approve of your rushing off the moment I rise in the evening in order to work at another job. It's beyond me why you ever put yourself in that regrettable situation. Your loyalties should lie with Julia and me, not some…"

The voice trailed off as Willie stared at the blaze, mesmerized by the dancing flames, listening to the roar. Snap, crackle, pop...Rice Krispies...roasted wieners and marshmallows…clinking crystal. Maggie smiled at him, her hair was a brilliant auburn when lit by the fire.

A hand touched his shoulder. "Willie, look at me; are you feeling alright?" Julia peered into his eyes and, not liking what she saw, proceeded to take his pulse. "Let me get you something."

"Gotta drive. Gotta go to work."

"Well, at least go upstairs and lie down for a little while."

"Can't do that." The young man shook his head with a chuckle.

"Relax, it's early yet."

"No, it's too late! I gotta go!" In a sudden panic, Willie jumped to his feet and raced out the door as the bewildered couple stared after him.

Willie froze in his tracks on the front porch. His pickup was gone; someone had stolen it. There was that one time when Barnabas had given his truck to Harry Johnson, because he was a better worker and didn't break things. He wouldn't do that again, because Johnson himself became a vampire and was destroyed—Maggie and her trusty shotgun blew him into the next world so that not even a ghost remained.

The baffled servant stomped back into the Old House. "Alright, what the fuck have you done with my truck?" he demanded. "I need it. I got responsibilities, goddamit. You can't make me stay here!"

Barnabas rose and grabbed him by the throat. "On the contrary, continue to speak to me in that tone of voice, boy, and you will see exactly what I can make you do. And if I decide to punish you again, it will _not_ be in the wine cellar."

"Don't, dear. You can see he's agitated." Julia interceded, gently grasping the vampire's arm. "Willie, breathe. Your truck is parked in the rear of the house. Don't you remember?"

The young man backed away, shaking his head. The room looked hazy and he felt strangely disoriented. He turned and walked uncertainly down the hall towards the servants' entrance.

* * *

"Willie, you can't come into work after cleaning fireplaces; you're filthy," Maggie clucked as her husband noticed for the first time that he was covered in soot. "Go wash your face and hands, then get an apron from the locker. Hurry up, we're running out of water glasses and forks."

On his way to the kitchen, Willie spotted Sam at a table enjoying his evening meal with Joe Haskell. Maggie's former boyfriend was a tall man with matinee idol looks. Their conversation died abruptly at the sight of the ruffian, Sam's fork clanked down on his plate as if his food had suddenly lost all flavor. Willie ducked into the men's room to wash up. What he really wanted to do was dump that dinner on their fat heads and punch their lights out, but good restaurant employees weren't supposed to do that.

With his sleeves rolled up, Willie immersed his hands in the hot water and his brain in the mindless, routine job of washing dishes. In the dining room, plates clattered, glasses clunked, patrons chatted, and food orders were yelled into the kitchen. When the sink was empty Willie would tour the tables, fill his plastic tub with dirty dishes, and begin again. Maggie looked cheerful but weary, sitting down whenever possible to nibble at a turkey sandwich she had stashed behind the counter. By the end of the evening she looked ready to pack it in.

"Someday I'm going to buy this place, and we'll be rich," Maggie said as she closed out the cash register while indulging in an evening snack of Harvard beets followed by strawberry ice cream. "Then you can work here as long as you want."

Willie settled down next to her and dove into his plate of stuffed cabbage, spaghetti and French fries. The cook fed him leftovers at the end of the day, usually the food that was too old to sell to customers. It was a free meal that he didn't have to prepare.

"I dunno. You shouldn't hand out them cushy jobs to your relatives. That's called nepotism." He must remember to tell Barnabas that he used one of his dictionary words in a sentence.

Without looking up, Maggie continued casually, "So, what are you planning to do on Sunday?"

Willie shrugged. "Go to work, I guess."

"The diner's closed."

"I mean at the Old House. Barnabas don't understand about things like days off."

"So I noticed," his wife snorted. "Well, since I do have off, Pop wants to take a day trip. There's a new Winslow Homer exhibit at the Portland Museum of Art, and he, uh, invited me and Joe to go with him."

"…Oh."

"Come on, Willie, you wouldn't like it. I'll bet you've never been in a museum in your life."

"I have so. Lotsa times," he replied quietly.

Maggie knew that, while her husband was well traveled, there seemed to be a lot of gaps in his social upbringing. At times he seemed completely ignorant of everyday experiences.

"But, as you said, you have to work."

Willie thought for a moment. "Actually, I think Barnabas would like if I went to a museum. He's always wantin' me to better myself."

"I don't know…" Maggie looked sadly at her husband as he stared at the pink sauce on her plate. "Well, do you absolutely promise to get along with everyone and not embarrass me?"

"I'll try."

"Okay, then." Maggie wrapped up the day's receipts to put in the safe. "Let's get out of here. Are you ready?"

"I still haveta fill the ketchup bottles and clean the bathrooms."

"Oh, no. Willie, I told you hours ago that the ladies' room was backed up."

"I forgot."

"Well, lock up when you leave, and make sure the sign is turned and the lights are out."

"Yeah, boss. I know what to do." Maggie went in the back to retrieve her coat and handbag. "You goin' home?"

"I'm stopping off at the Blue Whale for a little while to meet Joe and Pop. Don't worry, just for a ginger ale. I'll see you back at the apartment." She gave him a quick kiss and left.

* * *

Willie looked at the alarm clock. He had been there for more than an hour, and Maggie still had not come home. Finally, the young man could stay awake no longer and dropped off to sleep as he sat by the window with his transistor radio still playing. A short while later, the telephone rang, and Willie jumped up to grab the phone.

"What? Maggie? Are you alright?"

It was Julia Hoffman.


	4. An Education

The following day Willie rushed through his morning chores at the Evans' cottage and dashed to the modest Collinsport Public Library where he completed an application for a library card and engaged the assistance of a long-faced woman with round, oversized glasses.

"Can ya help me find some things? First, I need somethin' called _Hamlet_, one with notes where they tell ya what the hell's goin' on, and make sure it's not a first edition." The last time Willie read one of the boss's vintage novels, he dropped it and broke the spine.

The librarian stifled a smile. "Yes?"

"And I need a book that explains everythin' about art."

"That would be a very large book. Is there a particular kind of art you're interested in?"

"All kinds. Or maybe just the stuff from museums in Maine."

"Sir, since you've just applied for your card, you may check out only two books."

"That's fine, 'cause I only got one day to learn all this," he confided to the lady. "I need to impress somebody."

"In that case," she chuckled, "let's begin with Impressionism."

* * *

Sunday morning, Willie showered and shaved before making a beeline for the Old House, where he changed into his dark suit slacks and best sweater. Shoes polished. Hair combed back. Then he hit up Julia for an advance on his salary and left a note for Barnabas to explain that he needed a day off to better himself.

"What took so long?" Maggie asked as they left the house to pile into Sam's station wagon. "Pop wants to get there by ten."

"Sorry, I wanted to look nice. Ya know what Hamlet says, _the apparel oft proclaims the man_—"

"Then why did you show up in that old, ripped leather jacket?" Sam interrupted, knowing very well it was the only coat Willie owned.

Maggie took her husband's arm and guided him away. "I'll get you a new one for Christmas," she whispered.

Sam then instructed Willie to sit shotgun and Joe and Maggie to sit in the back. He handed a road map to his son-in-law.

"Any idea how to read this?"

"Uh, yessir, I'm pretty g-good at it." He had traveled with Jason all over the country by car and bus.

"We'll see." He pointed to two spots. "This is where we are, and this is where we're going. Try to stay awake."

The Portland Museum of Art was located in three buildings on Congress Square. Sam wanted to start at the Memorial Gallery to see the newly acquired Winslow Homer works.

"How 'bout if you and Joe do that. I'm not a big Homer fan," Willie shrugged. "I understand you're all about his Maine seascapes but, c'mon, he's no Thomas Eakins."

"What?" Sam's brow furrowed as the trio looked with surprise at the young man.

"Just a matter of personal taste. I prefer Eakins' tone and realism."

"Is that so?"

"Anyway, I was hopin' to show Maggie some of the post-impressionists. I hear they got an excellent collection. That is, honey, unless you wanna hit the neo-classical sculptures first, 'cause you're gonna love them."

"Sure, Willie, uh, whatever."

"Cool." He took his wife's arm. "Why don't we meet you guys at the café later this afternoon?" He led Maggie away into the main building.

"What was all that about, Willie? Why were you so rude?"

"I just wanted to spend some time alone with you." They entered the first hall. "And I want to show you this Sewer-rat. It's called _The Models_."

"So it is," Maggie replied, checking the card on the wall as Willie checked the notes written on his palm. "I believe his name is pronounced Seurat."

"Yeah," he grinned. "It's one of my favorites."

"Because it has naked women?"

"Excuse me, this is _art_. Because he actually put another painting of his in the background, the one called, uh, Sunday on some Island. Old George here did pointyism; he's pretty much the boss of the whole neo-impressionistic movement."

"I see," Maggie eyed him dubiously.

"My other favorite is _Starry Night, _but that ain't here. Crazy guy painted it looking out his window at the nut house."

And so Willie talked his way through the 19th Century impressionists, European and American. He was at a loss, however, in the contemporary exhibits where the couple observed room after room of crazy splashes of paint or bizarre surrealistic images.

"So, tell me, big shot, what does this say to you?"

"It says somebody spilled shit all over their canvas." He snuck a peek at the card. "Or maybe this guy used color to make a statement about inhumanity."

Finally, turning a corner, the couple encountered a depiction of something Willie actually recognized. "Hey, look, it's a pipe!"

Then he read the caption: _Leci n'est pas une pipe._ (1)

They proceeded through the galleries of Baroque, Rococo and Realism, but Willie started to fidget. The paintings reminded him too much of the portraiture at the Old House and Collinwood. Maggie found him staring of a portrait of a 18th Century man in a red frock coat. She moved on to the next room, but returned ten minutes later to find him in the same spot.

"Willie?" She nudged his shoulder. "Come and see what I…Willie?" She tried to turn him away from the painting, but he wouldn't budge. "You're shaking; what's the matter?"

"It's him. It's Barnabas."

"It is not; now stop it." She checked the card. "This is_ Portrait of an Etonian, _whatever that ? The card says it was painted in _England_."

"That's where Barnabas went to school. He's a lot younger here, but that's him, I can tell. He talked to me."

Maggie grabbed Willie's arm and yanked him away. "Do me a favor, don't say anything to Pop about this. Now, we're going to act normal, walk quietly into the next room and look at the funny furniture. Got it?"

"Okay."

Willie looked over his shoulder as they left, checking to see if the eyes were following him.

* * *

On the way home, the group dined at a Chinese restaurant. Willie smirked when the others asked for egg foo young and chop suey. Speaking to the waiter in Mandarin, the young man conversed briefly before asking if he could order something not on the American menu. Then he made a comment, obviously referring to the other members of his party, which made the server laugh.

"Willie, what did you say about us?" Maggie asked. "And when did you learn to speak Chinese?"

"When I lived there for a few years. And Chinese ain't a language, there's all different dialects: I just know a little Mandarin and some Cantonese from when me and Jason were in Hong Kong."

"Another fascinating revelation," Sam commented. "First we find out you're an art expert, now a multi linguist."

"What were you doing there?" Joe asked with a smile. "Were you a spy? Secret agent?"

"Actually, we did do some undercover work for the government, but I can't really talk about it. You know."

Sam looked at him disbelieving, but the young man wasn't lying. Not exactly. He and Jason did a bit of money laundering on the side. Mostly, though, Willie worked as a mule for smuggled drugs and black market contraband. A great deal of the time, he had no idea what was contained in the packages he delivered.

"Sounds pretty impressive," Joe remarked, to which Willie just shrugged nonchalantly.

Sam just grunted and pulled out his meerschaum pipe.

"Pop, please don't smoke right now. My stomach's a little upset. I guess I did too much walking today."

"Besides," said Joe, "the food's here."

Maggie eyes bulged when the server delivered her husband's dish: deep fried little animals in a speckled red sauce. Willie plucked up a plump one with chopsticks and plopped it into a small bowl of rice.

"Oh my God, what is that?" His wife's hand went to her month in apprehension.

Willie almost burst out laughing as he dove into his delicacy.

"Hot and spicy frog. Wanna try some? Taste like chicken. This is nothin', Jason and me used to eat all kinds of weird ass stuff: dog stew, _big _rooster balls, grasshoppers, lizards, crunchy beetles—hell, all kinds of bugs. Once we had brown bats in coconut milk—that was Indonesia—the wings're chewy, kinda like beef jerky. Chicken feet are okay, but ya gotta watch out for toenails. In the market place they'll fry up anything and stick it on a skewer. But sometimes they just eat 'em raw, or even live…"

The young woman stood abruptly and raced for the ladies' room.

* * *

"Well, that was a complete disaster," Maggie berated her husband that evening in their apartment. "I don't think Pop will ever invite you anywhere again."

"Sorry I made you barf."

"Why are you so insecure, Willie? You didn't need to show off like that. It was embarrassing."

"I didn't want ya to think I was a loser."

"And these." she held up the library books. "Really? _Hamlet_ and _Impressionist Masterpieces_, or how to take a crash course in bragging."

Willie hung his head. "I didn't want ya to think I was stupid."

"Why would I think that?"

"'Cause I never been to a museum, that's why! I also never been to a ball game or a bowling alley or a play or a zoo! There, are ya happy?"

"What about a circus?" The girl asked after an uncomfortable silence. Willie hugged his knees and started to rock slightly. "I hated the circus; the clowns scared me."

"I'd protect ya. I'd kick their clown asses down the street."

Maggie laughed and pulled her husband into her arms. "It's not a crime to be poor. I'm sure your parents did their best—"

"What do you know? My mother was a drunk who wasn't married and raised me in the bar where she worked."

"Oh. Is that why you won't talk about your childhood?"

"There's nothin' to t-talk about." He shrugged, his mood instantly brightening. "Everythin' turned out fine. Lyddie went to AA and got all better. You'll see when we visit at Thanksgiving. She's a very good cook, ya know."

Maggie sighed. "Willie, I've told you a dozen times, I am not going to leave Pop all alone and run off to New York during a holiday."

"But we haveta."

"No, and I'm not going to change my mind, so stop bugging me."

"He won't be alone. He'll eat with his pretty pal, Mr. Haskell."

"And his only child." She folded her arms. "You're welcome to join us."

"Okay, first off, I am not welcome to join you. Second, they'll all eat with Joe's uncle who lives on that farm."

"So what? Are you afraid of cows now?"

"Maybe. A little." Willie had nightmares about cattle. He remembered breaking into dairy barns back when Barnabas was on a diet of bovine blood. "I think they have g-guard dogs, too."

"I'll protect you. I'll kick their doggie butts down the street."

"But I promised my mom you would come."

Maggie took his face in her hands and looked him in the eye. "You had no right to do that. We hadn't even gone on a first date, and you told her we were getting married."

"That's 'cause I got magic powers to see the future. Wait—" He squeezed his eyes shut and tapped his temple. "I'm gettin' another one right now. It's a picture of you and me, we're in a truck, drivin' to Schenectady, singin' _Over the river and through the woods_..."

"Stop it!" His wife good naturedly aimed a smack at the side of his head, but Willie expertly dodged the blow. "I know she wants to meet me; I want to meet her too—only not on a holiday. I'm sure Joe's uncle won't mind if you come along."

"It'll be weird. I don't wanna eat with folks who don't like me." He took a deep breath before continuing. "I never hadda real Thanksgivin' dinner before, not at somebody's house."

"What are you talking about?" Maggie looked incredulous. "Do you make up these stories to get sympathy?"

Willie broke into a wide grin. "Yeah, sure."

"Why would you do that?"

"I'm bat-shit crazy," he laughed. "Let's get drunk and have sex."

"Sweet talker, you know I don't drink anymore."

"Oh, yeah." Her husband didn't remember that, but pretended he did. "I'm really not s'possed to, neither. Barnabas gets m-mad; he thinks that's why I break things all the time." Willie saw her bristle at the mention of his boss's name. "How 'bout the other part?" His hand wandered beneath the blanket to the hem of her nightshirt. _"Lady, shall I lie in your lap?"_ He peeked underneath. _"I mean with my head in your lap." _He disappeared under the cover. _"Do you think I meant country matters?"_

"Is that from _Hamlet_?"

"_Ah, there's the rub," _came a muffled voice from down under.

"Just keep it down. I don't want anybody banging on the walls." Maggie switched off the light.

"I can't keep it down. Look."

"You're very funny."

"Then I will make you come with me…all the way to New York."

"That's it. Go away."

"I'll shuddup now."

* * *

(1) Translation: This is not a pipe.


	5. Thanksgiving

**Wednesday, November 24, 1982**

It was almost 11 o'clock when Willie climbed into the cab of his pickup truck. His wife passed a paper bag through the window.

"Here's a ham sandwich and a peanut butter sandwich. Try not to eat at any truck stops along the highway. They're overpriced, and have lousy food and rough characters."

"Okay."

She passed in a large thermos. "Here's your coffee. Promise you'll stop at a motel if you get too tired."

"Promise."

"Call me tomorrow." He nodded. "Do you have the pie?"

"Yeah."

"Do you have enough gas?"

"Everything's cool, Maggie. I'll see you Friday night."

"Why do you have to leave now? You're going to get there at 4 AM."

"Nah, I'll probably stop somewhere." Willie wanted to be well on his way when Julia's middle of the night phone call came. Better to tell them after the fact. But, if his servant didn't answer, Barnabas might come looking for him. "You should sleep at your Pop's tonight. It'd be…more convenient."

"I'll be fine, I'm a big girl."

"Just do it!" he snapped. "For once, do somethin' I say, will ya?"

"Alright, geez." She backed away from the truck.

Willie jumped down from the cab and grabbed her into his arms.

"Sorry—I'm sorry, it's just that I don't want anythin' bad to happen to you—again."

"Then stop squeezing so tight." She looked at him. "So you really haven't blocked everything from your mind, have you?"

"I dunno. Some stuff I wish I could."

"No, don't ever forget…and don't ever forgive."

"I won't forget you."

"You do and I'll kick your blond butt down the street." Willie began to kiss her all over but she pulled back in embarrassment. "Not out here where everybody can see."

"It's dark. They're all in bed."

"Except for Mrs. Riddle peeping out the window." Willie waved and smiled at Mrs. Riddle. "Stop it, she already thinks you're odd." Maggie gave him a little push. "Go, if you're going."

The young man folded his arms, waiting for the answer to his request. "Well?"

"Fine. I'll call Pop to come pick me up."

"Not now; he'll be too sloshed to drive."

"Then I'll call Joe."

"Uh uh," he shook his head. "Get in, I'll give ya a lift."

"There's things I want to do first."

"No, there ain't." Maggie gave out a little scream as Willie scooped her into his arms and walked around the truck. "I'm kidnapping you."

"Be careful! I could fall!" He deposited his burden in the passenger seat, and not a second too soon. Boy, was she getting heavy. "Watch out, I almost sat on the pie!"

Willie threw the truck in gear and took off down the road.

"You realize this is the complete opposite direction," the young woman reminded him.

"Just lookin' after my wife. Sometimes ya gotta take care of people whether they want it or not."

"Yes, lord and master," Maggie smiled. "Whatever you say."

The young man smiled back. "I like that. You can call me that from now on."

It felt good to win an argument for a change, like he was the boss.

"You don't have to walk me to the door." She descended awkwardly from the cab and slid to the ground. "Drive carefully and have a good time tomorrow." Maggie blew him a kiss and walked away.

"You too," he called after her. "Stay upwind of them nasty cows." Willie suddenly jumped from the cab and chased his wife to the front door. "You didn't say bye or give me a kiss."

"I did so."

"Again." Maggie kissed him. "Again." She kissed him again. "Again."

"You don't have to go, you know," Maggie said with a sly smile.

"Yes, he does," Sam was standing behind them in the open doorway. "Stop doing that on my front steps."

"Oh, Pop, we were just saying goodnight." She walked past her father into the cottage.

Willie stood at the bottom of the steps, hands thrust in his pockets, waiting for the door to shut in his face.

"Er, drive safely," Sam mumbled. "Watch out for deer in the road. Pesky animals will run right out in front of your car."

"Yessir. I'll be careful."

Sam swayed a bit as Maggie caught him up and led the old man away. With a wink to Willie, she quietly closed the door.

* * *

It was going to be a long, lonely trip, so his dead partner, Jason, showed up to keep Willie company and help him stay awake. They reminisced about long stretches of driving they did in the old days, about which were their favorite cities, and which were their favorite scams. Just like in the good old days, Willie drove and Jason talked.

Suddenly a little girl appeared on the seat between them.

"Christmas hymns!" she announced brightly. "Let's all sing!"

The young man almost swerved off the road. "Sarah, what are you doin' here?"

"There was no one to play with, and I was lonesome, so I followed the Irishman." She explored the dashboard. "David has music boxes, is this yours? How does it work?"

Willie switched on the radio. The child didn't know the words to _Have a Holly Jolly Christmas_, but bounced in her seat as Jason sang along with Burl Ives. Then she cuddled up under the arm of the Old House servant.

"Don't lean on me, I'm drivin'," Willie said.

"You have to sing."

"I don't like to, and I don't like Christmas carols, so don't push your luck."

"Don't mind him, dear girl," McGuire pulled the spirit away. "He always was a sharp-tongued lad and gets grumpy when he's tired. Come sit with Uncle Jason."

Willie switched to the other station, but they were subjected to more seasonal tunes.

_What child is this, who, laid to rest  
__On Mary's lap is sleeping…_

"Hey, Jason, they ain't the right words. It goes: _There was a dusky Eurasian maid, in old Karachi she plied her trade—_"

"That's not somethin' we sing near the wee one," the Irishman interrupted. "This is a slight variation on the version I taught you."

Willie shrugged. "Don't sound that funny to me."

"I do not know these hymns," Sarah sniffed as she curled into a ball and went to sleep. Slowly, her visage faded and disappeared.

For the remainder of the trip, Jason read to his partner from _Hamlet_, beginning with the scene in which the ghost of his father appears to young prince, demanding revenge for his murder most foul.

_Remember me. _

* * *

Well, his wife was right, as wives always are, and the young man landed in the suburbs of Schenectady in the early hours of the morning. Willie had forgotten that he was supposed to stop at a motel, and he was too far from the highway to find anything now. He pulled out an old blanket stuffed in the back and laid across the bench car seat to catch a little shut eye. His head ended up in Jason's lap, but neither man nor specter remarked on it. Willie awoke a few hours later with a crick in his neck. The sun had risen and he was alone.

Willie took a deep breath. His heart was pounding as he rang the doorbell with a slightly trembling hand. _Smile._

The door opened and there stood a smiling, middle aged man in pajamas and robe, the picture of suburban fatherhood.

"Bill! Come in." Willie stepped over the threshold and dropped his duffle bag. "Richard Harrison. It's so good to meet you; I'm your stepdad." He shook hands with the visitor and began to pull him into an embrace, but the pumpkin pie in Willie's other hand got in the way and was almost crushed.

"Oh, sorry, sir!" Willie pulled back awkwardly as a fat bulldog waddled with excitement around his legs, dribbling urine behind her as she went.

"Please, call me Rick. Do you prefer Willie or Bill?"

"I-I don't care. Here." He held out the pie. "This is from my wife. They made it at the place where we work."

"Thank you." Then he called to two golden-haired youngsters parked in front of the TV set, eating donuts. "Children, say hello to your brother."

"Hello, brother!" they called without looking away from the Thanksgiving Day parade. "Dad, come here, it's Underdog!"

The boy's mother burst through the kitchen door, looking a little flustered, carrying paper towels.

"Big Bill! Kiss me, but don't touch my hands, I'm cleaning the turkey." She handed the towels to her husband who started to wipe up the floor. "That's Matilda, she gets nervous around strangers. She wants you to pet her."

"Uh, hi." Willie crouched down and cautiously patted the dog's head. Matilda wiggled the back half of her body in the course of wagging her tail.

Lydia looked behind him. "Where's Maggie?"

"Oh, uh, she has a cold, she's sick and hadda stay home, but she sent a pie. S-She didn't touch it or anything."

"Is her dad taking good care of her?" Willie nodded. "Good. Well, I'm glad you were still able to come."

The young man smiled. "Me too."

* * *

"Something's burning." Richard suddenly looked up from his crossword puzzle. "Lydia, are you okay?"

Willie was sitting around the coffee table with Ricky and Jocelyn admist a sea of board games: Monopoly, Parcheesi, Life and Sorry. He jumped up and flew out of the room before anyone else was out of their seat. The oven door gaped open and the charred poultry sent smoke throughout the kitchen.

"I burnt it again!" His mother sat at the table crying. "Every year I ruin the turkey."

Richard brushed past his stepson and put his arm around Lydia. "It's alright, honey. There's always some parts we can still eat."

"I didn't know you cooked Cajun." Willie sprung into action, grabbing two tea towels as potholders, and rescued the smoking roaster to the top of the stove. "I seen worse than this. Much worse." Lydia continued to cry, as Willie approached her. "Mom, I can fix it. It won't look too pretty, but it'll taste okay."

"But you're our guest…"

"I thought I was your son, and I wanna help. Will ya let me do that?" Lydia nodded, sniffing. "Do ya got some kinda gravy mix?" She pointed to a counter which contained all the fixings for a gourmet meal. There was a box of Stovetop Stuffing, Mrs. Paul's Sweet Potatoes, frozen succotash, Pillsbury crescent rolls, a can of cranberry sauce and two jars of Heinz turkey gravy. "Perfect. I can handle this, and the kids can help. Send 'em in and you two set the table. Real nice now, with folded napkins."

His parents left the room and Willie began to pull off blackened skin from the bird, after which he planned to cut up the salvageable bits and drown them in a bowl of gravy; that would help to moisten up the dried out meat. He heard raised voices from the living room, and a few minutes later, his half-siblings slammed through the door.

"I have to get changed," Jocelyn complained. "I'm going to my girlfriend's later, so I can have a real dinner. Mom does this every year, you know."

"You ain't goin' nowhere. If we were all helpin' her to begin with, maybe this wouldn't 'a happened. What're you, eight?"

"Nine." She scowled, folding her arms.

"Good, then you can read directions. Start with the stuffin'. Brother can do the yams."

"Since when do kids have to cook?" Ricky demanded. "Don't you know it's dangerous to go near the stove?"

"Why don't you start bein' a Jedi knight and stop actin' like a sissy, or I'm gonna call you Little Dick from now on."

"You were a lot nicer in my dream."

"I still have the picture you drew of Luke Skywalker."

"It was a picture of you, and that was just in my dream."

"It was magic," big brother corrected him, "and now we're gonna make some more. Let's get this party started."

* * *

It was, in Willie's opinion, the best Thanksgiving dinner ever. He had two helpings of everything, did not shovel his food, and answered their questions to the best of his ability. Oh, yes, he had traveled quite a bit with his friend and business partner who had passed away. Now he lived in scenic Maine with his lovely wife where he was in the restoration business and worked for the richest guy in town. He also helped out at a very nice restaurant where Maggie was the manager. In his spare time he did framing for her father, a well-known local artist, and, yes, very soon the young couple was planning to start a family. That actually didn't sound bad—much better than saying he fucked up his life, pissed off people most of the time and was bat-shit crazy.

The parents seemed satisfied at his prospects.

Willie asked permission to make a long distance call, but there was no answer at the apartment or the Evans' cottage. _Shit_, he wanted to talk to Maggie, see if she was alright, and tell her he loved her. Then he called the Old House to apologize for taking off without permission, but no one was home there either. Everybody was somewhere celebrating turkey day with loved ones, even Willie; but he missed his wife.

Rick pulled out his instamatic camera. "Okay, Lydia and all children on the sofa. I'm sick and tired of hearing my wife complain that she has no photos of her oldest son."

"There's two pictures a' me in North Carolina. One front and one to the side."

Richard snapped an entire roll of film: he took formal pictures and silly pictures. The little kids sat in big brother's lap, hung upside down, or made rabbit ears behind his head. He hugged his mother and kissed her cheek. Even for the pretend serious pose, Willie could not stop smiling.

His stepfather graciously offered to do the dishes and, in fact, didn't look that out of place wearing an apron. Lydia took out the trash. The children tried to rekindle Willie's interest in Monopoly, but he convinced them to pull out the play money and find a deck of cards, whereupon he taught them how to play poker.

Matilda nuzzled under his elbow.

"She wants to go out. Mom usually takes her for a walk," Josey explained.

"Sounds good." Willie grabbed his jacket. "You two practice while I'm gone, so I don't kick your butts when I get back."

"Hurry up. The movie's going to start soon."

His eyes lit up. "Is it _Wizard of Oz_?"

"No, _The Sound of Music_."

Willie wasn't interested in a film about singing children and nuns. He was hoping to see how green the witch really was. Matilda led him down the basement stairs and through the door to the garage where, in the far corner, his mother huddled in front of a storage cabinet.

"Hey, how long does it take to—?" She slammed the cabinet door shut and spun around. "What's the matter? You been gone a long time."

"I just come here to be alone."

"Why?" He approached her warily. "What's in there?"

"Nothing." He reached past her to open it. "No, don't—" Willie pulled out a pint of vodka, and Lydia began to cry again.

"Don't do that," her son said, slipping the bottle in his pocket. "We gotta walk the dog. Where's the leash?"

Lydia, Matilda and Willie strolled down the street, their breath vaporizing in the crisp night air. When they reached the corner playground, Willie sat on a bench as Lydia released the bulldog to run in the field before joining him. The young man lit a cigarette and offered one to his mother.

"No, I don't smoke anymore."

"You don't drink either." She took the cigarette.

"I can explain."

Willie shrugged. "Don't bother, unless you wanna talk about it."

She blew her nose. "I don't have an excuse."

"I bet you got twenty. You're bored. You're sad. You're not a good enough wife, or mother. They expect too much from you, keep the house all clean, cook fancy meals, volunteer at every stupid thing, and you're still not as important as someone with a real job. Your neighbors are all cluckin' busybodies, and your dog pees on the floor. It's hard spendin' your whole day pretendin' to be somethin' you're not...I know."

"I won't drink anymore."

"Don't say that if ya don't mean it. Not to me." He pulled the bottle from his jacket. "You got more of these around?"

"No, that's the only safe hiding spot. Richard's not very handy around the house."

"Good." He took a swig and grimaced. "I been wantin' a drink all day. Now, you and me are gonna finish this up, but before ya buy another one: Stop. Think. You could lose everythin'. I wish someone had said that to me a couple a' times."

Lydia cuddled up next to her son, as he put his arm around her. "I lost you. How could I do that?"

"That was my fault. I ran away 'cause I was scared of havin' a stepfather that wouldn't like me, and then you would dump me for that new baby. I done some awful stupid things in my life. Things I'm still payin' for."

"Aren't you happy, sweetheart?"

He hugged tighter, looking up at the stars as they peeked though the bare tree limbs. "I'm scared, Ma. I space out all the time and forget things. I think I'm goin' crazy."

Lydia nodded thoughtfully. "Depression runs in our family. Your grandmother died in a mental institution. That's when I went to live with Aunt Blanche and Uncle Bill."

Willie put on a smile. "We won't get depressed then. So, what makes you happy? I mean, besides vodka."

"My children, my husband," she answered automatically.

"Yeah. Rick really loves you; turned out he wasn't a dick at all. And your kids'll turn out fine if ya don't spoil 'em so much and slap 'em around a little." Matilda scampered back to inform the couple that she had concluded her evening constitutional. "Rick's not so handy, huh? Well I am. If you look up _handyman_ in the dictionary, it says _see Willie Loomis_." He smiled. "Make me a list of stuff that's broke, and I'll see what I can fix tomorrow before I go."

Before they entered the house, Lydia pulled from her pocket two breath mints and a bottle of spray cologne.

"Boy, you come prepared, Willie said. "I'll just take the mint."

* * *

That night, Willie slept in Ricky's bed, and the boy utilized a sleeping bag on the floor.

"Mom says they used to call you Chilly Willie. Why did they do that? Did you have a red hat?"

"Shuddup. Go to sleep."

"I have two light sabers if you want to play _Star Wars_ tomorrow. You can be Luke Skywalker, the hero."

"Then who are you?"

"I'm Luke Skywalker too."

"That makes no sense. I'll be the crook—what's-his-name, Hans. And Josey can be Princess Leah."

"She's going shopping at the mall tomorrow."

"No, she ain't, 'cause I told her I'd put polish on her nails."

"What? That's girl stuff."

"Nah, looks to me like paintin' detail, like I do on chair rails. Besides, you're the sissy, not me."

"Don't call me that."

"Okay." They were silent for a moment. "Do the kids beat ya up at school?"

"Sometimes," the boy sniffed, "because I'm short."

"No, 'cause you let 'em. Punch in the nose, punch to the throat, kick in the balls. They won't bother ya anymore."

* * *

The following day, as Willie prepared to leave, Lydia pulled him aside and pressed a handkerchief into his hand.

"These are for your wife; it's a wedding present." Willie opened the cloth to reveal Elizabeth Stoddard's sapphire earrings. "They were given to me by—Bill, I think I have a guardian angel, and one night it visited our house while we were sleeping."

Willie stared at the jewels for a moment, then put them on his mother. "You got a guardian angel who's gonna take good care 'a you, so you gotta wear these, to the grocery store and ev'rywhere, like a magic charm."

It sounded reminiscent of her son's fantastical childhood stories, but Lyddie agreed and kissed him goodbye. Willie promised to bring Maggie to visit at Christmastime.


	6. A Rogue and Peasant Slave

**December 1982**

_Holy kringle crap,_ Christmas was coming, that celebration of greed revered around the world by little children and pickpockets. This year Willie wanted to buy presents for all his loved ones, a situation with which he had no prior experience. Maggie would need something truly wonderful to make her forget whatever spectacle Joe would pull out of his ass. And Sam, although not exactly a loved one, might be more amenable toward his son-in-law with a bow-tied bottle of single-malt scotch under the tree.

Most of all, Willie wanted to send something real nice to his family in upstate New York. With the workload Dr. Hoffman was piling on her assistant, it looked like another visit was not going to happen as soon as promised.

All that was going to take a boatload of money.

Everything in the window was sparkly. He could shoplift one of those. If Jason were there to cause a diversion, he could slip it in his pocket and take off…or if he had someone's credit card…

"What has you so enraptured?" There was a tap on his shoulder. "Willie?" He turned to see Julia handing him a cardboard cup of coffee. It took the young man a few seconds to register who she was. "You've been standing there for 15 minutes."

The couple was gazing in the display window of an extravagant jewelry store. "I was just thinkin' about Christmas presents. Do ya think Barnabas would give me a bonus or somethin'?"

"I doubt it would be sufficient to shop in there," she chuckled in her condescending Julia Hoffman way. "Come along, it's time for our appointment." The doctor locked arms with Willie and guided him toward the truck. "Do you remember how to get to North Cumberland Memorial?"

"'Course I do. I been to ev'ry damn hospital in the state.."

Willie watched in apprehension as two burly men wheeled out a sheet-covered gurney from the service entrance to the white pickup and loaded an enormous ice chest and a large zippered bag.

"J-Julia, how am I gonna carry that into the house by myself? And what the hell is in there? That can't be just blood."

Dr. Hoffman put her finger to his lips. "Go wait in the truck. We'll talk later."

Willie's leg twitched uncontrollably as he sat behind the wheel and watched in the rearview mirror as Julia handed a shopping bag of cash to the questionable gentlemen. They secured the tarp and the back flap before the doctor ascended, somewhat awkwardly, into the cab.

"I wish there was a pull-down step there. That's quite a climb."

The driver stared straight ahead, gasping hoarsely. "I can't breathe. It hurts. I think I'm havin' a heart attack."

"Oh, Willie, calm down, you're fine."

"I'm not fine, I can't breathe!" Clutching his chest, the young man began to shake all over and hyperventilate.

"If you can tell me that you can't breathe, then you can. You're having an anxiety attack." She rummaged through her purse. "Hold on, I'll get you a tranquilizer."

"That's a dead body, isn't it? There's a dead body in there."

"No, of course not. Why would you think that?"

Willie's head shot in her direction. "Are you tellin' me that's _not_ a dead body back there?"

The doctor looked away and cleared her throat. "…Not a whole one," she replied under her breath.

"Fuck, Julia!" he just about screamed. "What're ya doin' with dead bodies?"

"Lower your voice. This is not the place to discuss it; we need to get out of here." She popped a capsule in his mouth. "Pull out of the driveway. Now."

They drove in silence for a short while. Barnabas had forced the boy to bury a few cadavers early in their acquaintance. One was a young woman named Jane whose picture appeared on the front page of the newspaper. Another was Jason, but nobody gave a rat's ass when he went missing. There may have been others; he couldn't remember. It seemed such a long time ago, but Willie still had nightmares about it. The corpses grabbed at him from their graves, called to him…

"I don't wanna do this." The assistant shook his head emphatically. "It ain't right."

"No one is being hurt, and Barnabas will be helped. Now, you want to help Barnabas, don't you?"

Willie frowned as he concentrated on the road. "Ya shouldn't give me pills when I'm drivin'."

"Then stop being irrational. It's not as if I'm asking you to go digging in a cemetery."

"You gotta get somebody else."

"I'm sorry, but I don't know any other experienced grave robbers. That is how you and Barnabas met, is it not?"

"I-I don't remember. I think I mighta been drunk."

"This is a very important experiment, Willie, and you are vital to its success. You are helping to save many lives."

Her driver didn't answer. Julia was always handing him some bullshit line and talking to him like he was an imbecile, a word he learned from Roger Collins. But there was no point in arguing with her about it now. She would only tattle to Barnabas, who would get pissed and reprimand Willie. The young man couldn't recall what a reprimand was, but there was a better than average chance he wouldn't like it.

* * *

Shoulders hunched, head down, Willie walked hurriedly toward the hardware store. He wasn't particularly pressed for time, but his thoughts were racing, and his body felt a need to keep apace. Besides, his leather jacket was designed for style, not warmth, and there was a bitter wind coming from the north.

He thought of demanding more money for his oh-so-valuable contributions to Julia's voodoo project. She and Barnabas had bags of it to throw around; why shouldn't he get some? Only that would be like saying what they were doing was okay, and that he approved.

But where else was he going to get his hands on some cash? Last year Barnabas had tossed him a $10 bill at Christmas, which was fine at the time, because he had no real expenses and used it to buy a bottle of cheer. Now $10 wouldn't buy squat, not with six people on Santa's list, if you didn't count Joe. Why the hell should he get a present for Joe, anyway? He didn't even like the guy. Pretty Boy needed to get a friend his own age, find someone else to date and move on. It was like he was just waiting for Loomis to fuck up so he could…

Willie ran slam bang into a shopper exiting the gift and souvenir shop. Both ended up on the ground, and the man's packages scattered everywhere. _Holy Christmas balls_, it was Burke Devlin. Willie jumped to his feet and prepared to take flight. _No, play it cool._ Devlin wouldn't slug him out on the street in broad daylight.

"Sorry!" He reached over and helped the large man to his feet. "It was an accident. I wasn't watchin' where I was goin'." Willie started to gather the shopping bags and boxes that scattered.

"And I couldn't see over that pile I was carrying." He let Willie restack the bundles in his arms. "Thank you, sir. Merry Christmas."

_Sir?_ Willie stared incredulously. "Uh, yeah, s-same to you." He made a hasty exit into the store before Devlin changed his mind and recovered from his holiday spirit.

When the handyman reached to pay for his purchases, he pulled out two wallets. Shocked, he stole a look around and shoved the nice looking billfold back in his pocket, quickly finalized the transaction, and strolled casually out the door.

_Holy plumfuckers on parade._ He had lifted Burke Devlin's wallet. The Collins' caretaker was officially dead meat. Why the hell would he do that, and without even realizing it? Maybe it was second nature or something, or something a crazy person would do.

The only thing to do was to get it back, only no one would believe him if he claimed to have found it on the street—not the nefarious Willie Loomis. He could drop it in a mailbox and proceeded to do just that—but first, the young man reasoned, he might as well take the cash, since it would undoubtedly disappear by the time the property was returned. He fingered through the bills: 10, 20, 25, 30, 40 dollars, and a condom.

_Bad Burke._ _Are you taking advantage of our dear Miss Winters—or cheating on her?_ Willie pocketed the contents and proceeded to browse the credit cards. He could buy anything with those—diamonds rings and mink fur coats, but then he was sure to get nabbed. Jason always said to keep your nose clean in small towns, and this was as small as you get. His last attempt to borrow a stranger's credit card resulted in a nine-month prison sentence, and he couldn't go to jail now. Barnabas would be mad, and Maggie would be even madder.

Tucked behind the driver's license was a photograph of a couple, with an inscription on the back: _Zach and Rachel 1980_. Willie did a double take and scrutinized the license: Zachery Wilson, 734 Stern Lane, Logansport, ME. Organ Donor.

"Huh." He looked again at the photograph. The man had a wavy carrot-top mop and a mustache; He wasn't Burke Devlin, looked nothing like the man. Willie shrugged as he dumped the billfold down the mail chute. That explained why he was so polite.

With his windfall, Willie headed to the 5&amp;10 to go holiday shopping. He bought his stepfather a deluxe, leather-bound crossword puzzle book, two bottles of fancy nail polish (red and green) for Josey, and 20 packets of Star Wars trading cards for Ricky. Each packet came with five cards and a stick of stale bubble gum. For Lydia he picked out a treetop angel with a real porcelain head. A guardian angel. There was enough left over for a decent bottle of scotch for Mr. Evans. He still wasn't sure what to get for Maggie, but he knew it had to be special.

* * *

It was lying in what looked like a perverse jigsaw puzzle on the examination table. Guts and organs, some connected to each other in places, in a hideous pulsating blob. Willie stared in horror as he backed out of Julia's laboratory and tore down the steps, his only thought to get away as fast as that clunker truck could carry him. Dr. Hoffman grabbed him at the foot of the stairs.

"Willie, it's alright; calm down."

"I'm having a d-dream. A really horrible dream and I need to wake up now. You have to shoot me or somethin' so I'll wake up."

"Come into the parlor and sit."

"No! I'm outta here!" He broke away and flew down the hallway toward the servants' entrance.

"I have your keys." Willie stopped, turned and held out his hand. "You may not leave in this condition. Now have a seat and I will explain what you saw."

The handyman complied, sitting in one of the wingback chairs instead of his usual spot on the floor in front of the fire.

"Okay, doctor, explain to me why you're pluggin' together dead body parts."

Julia smiled modestly. "I know it doesn't look like much now, but I am creating a new living organism."

"Most people just have babies."

"No, no, this won't be a thinking, feeling person. It will be more like a machine—one that will generate blood." The young man stared at her in disbelief. "A never ending supply of fresh, human blood for Barnabas. Don't you see? He'll never have to attack or kill again. And no one was harmed—I merely recycled leftover autopsies from John Does that were headed for cremation anyway, and…a few donated organs. When we are finished, Barnabas will have his own personal blood bank."

Willie considered the argument. "It don't sound right. You're gonna bring this guy to life and just use him, and he don't get to say nothin' about it. I mean, won't he have a brain? What if he gets sad or bored or it hurts him?"

"It won't be a _person_ in that sense. Yes, of course it'll have a brain, but it won't process except to stimulate bodily functions. It will have no conscious thought, no more than your truck. All it will do is consume energy, create output and circulate blood."

"You're makin' a monster. Bad things always happen when people make monsters."

The doctor sighed. "This is a medical breakthrough, not mad science. Think of the doors this will open, Willie. Think of the lives it will save, and not just vampire victims. We will create the ability to harvest human blood for vital transfusions, to produce stem cells, regenerate organs; oh, think of the possibilities."

Willie didn't want to look stupid, but just couldn't wrap his brain around the idea. "If it's such a good thing, then why don'tcha call the newspaper and do it in a big hospital instead of snatchin' bodies in back alleys?"

"Well, because it's not exactly legal."

"Yeah, and there's a reason why it's not exactly legal: Because it's bat-shit crazy, like all your other experiments. Sorry, but I can't help ya anymore." He jumped up from his chair. "I gotta keep my nose clean. My wife would kill me if she found out."

"And what would your wife do if she found out some other things?" Julia settled further back into her chair and Willie slowly sat again.

"W-what other things, doctor?" he asked warily.

"Oh, I can't remember them all, let me check my notes." She pulled out a small, red leather book and referred to it. "Let's see, you went to reform school at age 10 for robbing a neighbor, then had an illicit relationship with a priest. You ran away at 15 to work as a prostitute, petty criminal and drug dealer, lied your way onto numerous ships with forged documentation, killed endangered species to sell on the black market in Asia, attempted to scam a businessman in Panama out of 2.5 million dollars, went to prison for credit card fraud, and abetted Mr. McGuire's blackmail of Elizabeth Stoddard. Let's top it off with your career as a raging alcoholic that culminated with grave robbing the Collins family tomb." She looked up. "Shall I go on? Shall I talk about the men and women you procured for your boss, the bodies you buried or the dairy farms…"

"How do you know all this?" Willie asked quietly. His left leg started to bounce uncontrollably. "Did Barnabas tell you?"

"You told me, dear boy, when I hypnotized you for your drinking problem. Oh, maybe not the first time, but during the two or three after that." She referred to her notebook. "Oh, here's another. How could I forget? You shot and most probably murdered a police officer. The details were not forthcoming so I imagine it was rather gruesome."

"It wasn't like you're makin' it sound. I thought you were sorta my friend, Julia, y-you helped me get married." His voice started to crack. "Why do ya wanna ruin everythin'? I work hard for you."

"And you must continue to work hard for me." Julia walked over to the boy's chair and brushed the hair back from his eyes. "I don't mean to be cruel, Willie, but nothing must interfere with this project. It's entering a critical phase and we'll need you close by. I can't wait for you to show up when you're finished washing dishes or taking day trips."

Willie looked up at her. "W-what do ya mean?"

"I want you to telephone your wife now, and tell her you'll be taking a leave of absence from your other job. You will also be moving out of your apartment and back into the Old House for a while. I don't care how you explain it. Say Barnabas has a major renovation that requires your undivided attention, or perhaps you need a trial separation. You decide what's best."

Willie watched as Dr. Hoffman ignited a foot-long matchstick and proceeded to light the candles about the parlor with systematic precision. Julia was forcing him to give up everything: his life, his wife, his party palace. But if Maggie learned about his wicked past, she would hate him forever. He was going to lose it all, either way.

"I hadda do it, Sheriff," the young man spoke softly. "I hadda kill her. She was gonna pour gasoline on me, so I swung that fire poker over there. No, the big one. I just meant to whack her so I could escape, but then, _whoosh_, her head came right off. That's when I got the idea to hang it on the front door, you know, as a warnin' to other mad scientists and crazy bitches."

"Willie, are you talking to yourself?"

"I said, _what a rogue and peasant slave am I_."

"You've been reading _Hamlet_," Julia smiled, continuing her task. "Barnabas will be so pleased. I know how much he misses your _discussions_." Her tone was mildly sarcastic.

Willie stood by the hearth and picked up a fire poker. The big one. The young man turned and swung the weapon full force into the back of his chair.

"_How now! A rat? Dead, for a ducat, dead!"_ He beat the chair until upholstery stuffing began to seep through the slices he created.

"Willie, control yourself. Stop that at once." The doctor spoke with steel-faced authority but did not approach him. In fact, she backed towards the archway.

The handyman abruptly ended his tirade. "Sure, okay. I'm sorry." He turned and proceeded to vent his anger instead on the fireplace header.

"Willie!" Barnabas stood in the doorway and, in a flash, was across the room, wrenching the rod from the vandal's hands. "You are defacing Florentine marble!"

But the servant showed no remorse._ "Thou wretched, rash, intrudin' fool! I took thee for thy better."_

Barnabas had no patience for such nonsense early in the evening and sent the servant toppling over the mistreated chair with a stinging slap.

"He doesn't improve, he retrogresses," the master remarked to Julia. "Destructive, disrespectful—"

"Disobedient, disturbed—very disturbed," the servant interrupted.

"At times like this, I actually miss Harry Johnson."

Willie swiftly scrambled to his feet, mindful that you have to stand up to these vampires, or they will bully you.

"You can't make me stay here," he announced with jutting chin. "And you can't make me mess around with them dead bodies."

Barnabas impatiently returned his servant to the floor with a backhand; Willie scurried to the nearest corner. _Safe place. This is my safe place._

"I've warned you. Do not presume to tell me what I can and cannot do."

"You can't do that neither!" the boy hollered defiantly, wiping the blood from his cheek. "You can't hurt me like before, 'cause I got someone now who cares about me, and she'll know!"

"That reminds me: I told Willie to call his wife," Julia interjected, "and inform her that he will be living here from now on."

"I don't think that necessary," Barnabas replied. "When Mrs. Loomis fails to hear from her husband, she will conclude he is off on another spree of drinking and carousing and, no doubt, be done with him once and for all."

"No, she won't!" Willie yelled from the floor. "She'll know it was you. Maggie knows all about you, 'cause I told her everythin'. She'll come lookin' for me, and have you arrested!"

Barnabas yanked the servant to his feet. "You did what?"

Willie swallowed as he eyes widened. "Uh, nothin'."

The older man backed him to the wall. "You betrayed me to Maggie Evans, the vampire slayer."

"D-don't listen to me, I'm crazy."

The vampire pressed his body against Willie's, cupped the back of his head, and ran his fingers through the boy's hair. Barnabas whispered in his ear, "You shouldn't have done that." With carnivorous greed, he sank his fangs into Willie's neck.

Julia watched uncomfortably for a few minutes as her husband locked the servant into his embrace. Without comment, she left the room.


	7. The Morning After

Willie was standing on the beach, clutching at his abdomen. A gigantic gray shark with fangs had taken a big chomp out of him, and guts and innards were spilling out all over the place. On his knees, the young man tried to shove his organs back where they belonged, but they were getting covered with sand and he figured that couldn't be good.

It was risky, but the ocean seemed calm and there was no ominous music in the background, so Willie made his way back into the water to rinse off. He walked too far, too fast, got pulled out by a riptide and down by the undertow, disappearing under the waves. The boy scrambled futilely but sank like a stone, deeper and deeper, leaving a trail of blood in his wake.

Then the music began, a pulsating rhythm muffled by the water as the shark appeared in the murky depths, first above him, then diving beneath with gaping jaws.

Willie grappled at the air as he woke up screaming. His heart pounded as the servant slowly realized he was in his old third-floor bedroom. The oil lamp burned warmly and Barnabas sat complacently at his bedside, looking more pleasant than he had in months.

"Oh good, you're awake." The master smiled happily. "Forgive the intrusion. I know this sounds absurd but, in truth, I have somewhat missed your company of late. Your return promises to be a refreshing change."

The young man felt his midsection under his shirt to make sure all the pieces where there, then collapsed back onto his mattress with a wave of nausea.

"Of course, Julia is a fine companion. One could not ask for a more devoted wife, and she is very attentive to one's needs, if you understand of which I speak—"

Bile rose in his throat as Willie listlessly waved the man away.

"Except on one subject," the vampire continued in confidence. "She won't permit me to—you know—on the neck. Personally, I think it's a control issue. She supplies me with more than enough blood, but in those antiseptic, plastic hospital bags." He made a sour face. "Dear woman doesn't realize the thrill of restraining a breathing creature in one's embrace, smelling its warm flesh, sapping its strength…"

Willie leaned over the side of the bed and puked into the waste basket where Barnabas, with his nimble reflexes, had placed it seconds before.

"Poor lad. Here I am, going on about my personal predicament, while you suffer." With a damp washcloth, he dabbed the servant's face. "Julia says you have a dreadful fever, although I cannot tell. I thought your reaction rather extreme, as if you had never been bitten before. Why is that?" His eyes lit up. "Ah, perhaps it is a result of all those transfusions during the procedure in which you transformed from vampire back to human. That must be it, don't you think?" The vampire gently cleaned dried blood from Willie's neck, looking slightly embarrassed by the large, unsightly bruise present. "And I'm afraid I overindulged myself," he said with a small smile.

Willie deposited Round 2 of his stomach contents into the trash can as Barnabas discreetly backed away from the distasteful odor, holding a scented handkerchief to his nose.

"You must rest now; we want you back in top form, and tomorrow will bring new adventures." The master reached behind him for the doorknob. "The time has come for me to retire for the day, and so I shall take my leave of you."

The master silently closed the door behind him.

_You cannot, sir, take from me anything that I will more willingly part withal… except my life… except my life…except my life._

* * *

Willie next awoke when his butt hit the floor, and he looked around, again dazed and disoriented. How could he fall out of bed? He and Maggie kept the mattress on the floor to prevent just that from happening. It was unnaturally quiet and he had been sleeping in the middle of the day. He felt cold and sweaty at the same time. The room smelled. Dr. Hoffman was in the doorway.

"Not again." She pulled Willie up and tucked him back into bed, then gave the young man a cursory once-over, peering into his eyes, feeling his forehead. "I have never seen anyone squirm around in their sleep like you. Do I need to restrain you to the bedpost?"

"Don't do that."

The doctor held out two pills and a glass of water, but Willie backed away. "It's just Tylenol, for your fever. Now, please, I have other things to do." Julia mopped the sweat from his brow. "There's a tray on the dresser with orange juice and beef broth, which, of course, is cold now."

The boy shook his head. "Not yet, but thanks, Doc. I'm g-gonna sleep some more." He buried his head in the pillow until he heard the door close and footsteps retreat down the hall.

_Sucker._

Willie sprang upright, but the sudden momentum made his head pound and he almost went down again. The room was still spinning as he forced himself to stand and felt his way to the dresser. _Food smell._ The young man turned away, stomach lurching, and searched for—what did he need? Shoes. Jacket. Escape.

He tiptoed, partially slid, down the back stairs and could have snuck out the servants' entrance except for his keys. The young man was not up to hotwiring the truck but, fortunately, Julia's pocketbook was in the foyer and inside was what he needed.

Driving was especially difficult because the road kept moving up and down, and sometimes there were two at once, but he got to the apartment without hitting anything and reached for the knob just as door swung open. Maggie stood at the threshold with folded arms. His wife was not happy.

"Oh my, look what the cat dragged in. You look horrible." The young man was about to pass out again and stumbled toward the mattress. "Do you mind telling me where you've been since yesterday?"

"Old House." Willie crawled under the covers.

"That is a downright lie. I called there last night, worried to death, and Mr. Collins said you never showed up for work. Then I saw Dr. Hoffman this morning and still no news."

"Why would you see…oh, I don't feel good."

"No, hangovers don't feel good. Well, I guess you're not going to work again tonight, not in this shape." There was no response. "Are you planning to sleep in your clothes again?"

Willie slid off his jeans and pushed them out onto the floor. A couple of dollar bills and a condom fell out.

"What is this?" She held up the packet.

"Nothin', it's nothin'; I dunno." He fumbled with his shirt buttons as she knelt on the mattress and reached over to assist.

"I guess that's nothing, too."

"Huh?"

"Congratulations, it's the biggest hickey I've ever seen." All of a sudden Maggie was crying—and clobbering him with flying fists. "You rotten, lying jerk!"

He tried to grab her but had no strength in his arms. It was all he could do to ward off the blows as his wife continued to batter him. Finally he garnered the momentum to push her away and she yelped in surprise, falling backwards.

"How dare you!" she spat, clumsily pulling herself up as he tried to explain. "Shut up, I am not speaking to you, do you hear? I'm going home. Don't follow me and don't come to the diner ever again. You're fired!"

Willie fell back onto the mattress. Maybe this is what Julia meant by a trial separation.

* * *

It was past sunset when Willie next awoke. His strength had returned and his head no longer felt like it was stuffed with cotton as he reached for the lamp. Her clothes were still in the closet, but Maggie was gone.

Once again, Willie belonged to the vampire, body and soul. It would be looking for him soon, calling to him from the corridor in his mind, the one only he and Barnabas shared. But this second time around the young man was better informed. Willie knew now he had the power to close his door and block the master's thoughts and commands, even if he was incapable of betraying or harming the monster.

Once again, Maggie was in danger.

_She knew too much to live._

Had Barnabas said that to him for real or in a dream? The vampire was sure to kill Maggie, probably tonight, and Willie knew it was all his fault because the nonsense that tumbled out of his mouth never seemed to check in with the brain beforehand. Not everything he did was crazy; some things were just stupid.

Collecting his thoughts, Willie resolved to save the woman he loved, and not muck it up like the last time and the time before. It wouldn't be easy, because she was very pissed at him at present. The young man grabbed his duffle bag and started to pack, beginning with a fistful of clothes and his collection of prescription drugs.

It took several trips to get everything set up and Willie worked tirelessly. That mental door was sealed shut in order to shield himself from Barnabas, but that also meant he had no idea what the vampire what up to. Willie showed up at the diner with a thermos just as the young woman was turning the sign on the front door.

"I told you not to come back here." She tried to close the door in his face. "Get out of my restaurant."

"Please, Maggie. Here, look." He held out the thermos. "I brought ya some tea."

"I work in a restaurant and am perfectly capable of making my own tea."

"This is your favorite, Darjeeling."

"It's too late—"

"Decaf." The young man poured hot liquid into the cup-lid and handed it to her. "I'm sorry, really sorry about last night, but it wasn't what ya think."

The manager began to count out her cash drawer. "Oh, then what was it?"

"I—can't tell ya. He won't let me, and it ain't safe for you to know." Maggie sighed in exasperation. "Look, uh, we gotta get outta here for a while, maybe take a trip."

"Are you going to start that again? I am not going to New York for Christmas."

"I was thinkin' more like the Bahamas. I bet you could use a vacation." He pointed to the register receipts. "Maybe we could, ya know, b-borrow some of that cash and then—"

"Whoa, whoa, hold it right there. Are you out of your mind?" Willie slumped in his seat, running fingers through his hair. "Or are you in some sort of trouble?"

"I can't say no more! Don't you get it? He's there, inside my head." Willie looked up to see his love staring back in dismay at her distraught husband as if he had lost his mind. "Never mind, forget it. Finish your tea and I'll drive ya home." She started to protest. "To your Pop's, I know…I understand."


	8. A Method to his Madness

_Synopsis: Maggie's life is in jeopardy, but she gets rescued, Willie Loomis style. _

* * *

Willie carefully lit the candles, all seven, and arranged them in a semicircle on the tablecloth spread out on the floor. Along the wall he lined up a few gallon jugs of water leading to the corner where canned foodstuffs were piled into a pyramid next to the can opener. He was very pleased with himself to have remembered to bring a can opener.

Maggie looked peaceful as she lay sleeping on a makeshift mattress of pillows, covered in two warm blankets. When everything was arranged as attractively as possible, Willie sat back and waited for his wife to awaken. He took one of the orange pills to stay alert.

She was unconscious all night and possibly part of the next day. Even after awakening, the young woman seemed slightly dazed and disoriented for a while afterwards. At long last, she pushed herself into a sitting position.

"What's going on? Willie, where are we?" Maggie looked around in confusion.

"Secret hiding place in a mausoleum. The Bahamas woulda been nicer, but—"

"Wait—how did I get here? I don't remember anything after—after—I was riding in your truck."

"You, uh, kinda fell asleep."

Maggie paused as she thought back to the events of the night before. Her eyes widened as a look of growing suspicion registered on her face.

"Willie Loomis—did you put something in my tea?" He sheepishly held up the bottle of blue pills. "Oh my god! Are you crazy? What were you thinking? Do you have any idea how dangerous that was?"

"I'm sorry, I really am, but ya wouldn't come with me, and we hadda hide. Ya see, they know about you now, so it ain't safe."

By that point Maggie was on her feet. She stalked over to her captor and stared him in the face. "Now you listen to me, and listen good: I don't know what kind of sick, paranoid fantasy you live in, but I am not in any danger, except from _you._ This is all in your imagination."

Willie smiled reassuringly. "Don't worry, I got it all figured out—how I'm gonna take care 'a ya. Everythin' we need's right here."

Maggie struggled to reclaim some measure of composure as she watched the madman neatly place linen napkins beneath each candlestick to catch the dripping wax, mumbling to himself as he went. "Gotta remember to keep the door in my head closed real tight or they might find us. Gotta bolt that sucker…"

At length, she attempted again, speaking to her husband as though he was a simple-minded child.

"You realize, dear, that if you force me to stay here against my will, you will be a kidnapper; do you know what that means?" Willie was familiar with the term. "I'm worried for you, honey. This is a very serious crime and you're going to get into a lot of trouble."

"I been in trouble before." Willie shrugged dismissively.

She tried a different tactic.

"But why do we have to hide? If someone is threatening me, we should just call the police."

"Oh no, that would be like a betrayal, and he don't like that. 'Sides, everybody's gonna believe them, not me," he explained patiently.

"Alright then, you and I will just have to do it ourselves," she attempted to rally his enthusiasm. "We'll just kick their evil butts down the street..."

He chuckled at her naïveté. "C'mon, you know he's got supernatural powers."

"Who?" She cried in frustration. "This makes no sense. Who the heck are you talking about?"

This time it was Willie who looked bewildered. Loomis was the one who was inclined to repress unpleasant memories, not his wife. It was she who said _never forget and never forgive_. He was hesitant to say it out loud, not after the trouble it caused last time, but she had to know what he was talking about. Why was she playing dumb?

"Certain people," he replied suggestively, but an edge of panic started to creep into his voice. "And when we get outta here, one of 'em may tell you some b-bad things about me, but none of it's true. Don't believe her—or him; they're both damn liars!" He plopped on the floor, hugging his knees. "I didn't mean to do any of that stuff, and it wasn't all my fault."

"Sure, if you say so." Maggie replied, apprehensive at his outburst. "I won't listen to a word they say." The young woman sat on the pillows and pulled Willie's head into her lap, stroking his hair. "I'm sorry if I yelled earlier," she continued calmly. "I was a little upset, but now that you've explained everything, it's okay. It's fine, because you're only trying to protect me."

Finally, she seemed to understand. With a wave of relief, Willie wrapped his arms around her waist and clung tightly.

"Honey," Maggie continued sedately. "We can leave here when it's safe again, right? How long do you think that will be?"

"Hard to say. They gotta lotta other shit goin' on, you know, with dead bodies and stuff, so maybe they'll forget about us in a few days…but I dunno."

"We can't stay here forever," her tones were soothing and soft. "Pop will worry about me, and we'll run out of supplies. Oh, sweetheart, it's so cold and damp here; you wouldn't want to do anything to harm the baby."

Willie's head popped up. _Baby?_ Was there something important that he didn't remember, or was this some sort of clever trick to escape?

Maggie massaged his tensing shoulders. "I know you pretend it isn't so, but you can't stay in denial for much longer. You're going to be a father." She placed his hand on her swollen belly, but he pulled away when something kicked it. "Don't you remember? That's why we got married."

The young man looked at her sadly. "It wasn't 'cause you loved me?"

"Willie, I hardly knew you. That weekend in Bangor should never have happened, but it did, and everything'll work out fine in the end. We'll have a nice little family and you will get psychiatric help."

* * *

A day had passed and still Willie refused to release his captive. Maggie lost patience with the disturbed man and stopped trying to cajole or reason with him. She changed from her diner uniform into sweat clothes and parked herself in a corner, plowing through can after can of food. When he tried to speak to her, the girl hollered "Shut up! I hate you!" and turned on the transistor radio, which produced only static in the stone cell, and cranked the volume.

Willie paced their boundaries like a caged animal, worried about the impending danger, worried that his wife would never forgive him, and worried about what was going down outside, especially at the Old House.

The boy squeezed his eyes shut and in his mind unbolted the door and peeked into the telepathic corridor. The vampire's door stood wide open as he relaxed before the fire while Julia sat opposite, serenely smoking a cigarette. Barnabas glanced up, nodded congenially to his servant and returned to his newspaper. Willie stood in the hallway, gaping at the couple. It was as if nothing was amiss. Surely he hadn't imagined the whole thing, like Maggie said, because that would be really embarrassing. He returned to reality, shaking his head.

"Hey, ya know what, maybe we could—" The young woman catapulted a spoonful of SpaghettiOs in his direction, and returned to her meal. Pasta rings and orange sauce dripped down his shirt front. "Okay, I know you're mad, but—" The next glop landed in his hair. "Fine! Be that way. You're not actin' very mature."

Willie slumped into his own corner and pulled out _Hamlet_, reading loudly.

"_What is the reason that you use me thus?  
I loved you ever: but it is no matter.  
Let Hercules himself do what he may,  
The cat will mew, and dog will have his day."_

With a steely look upon her face, Maggie rose and crossed to her husband, whereupon she dumped the remains of her meal on his head and dropped the can in his lap.

"I'm sick of Shakespeare."

To her surprise, Willie just laughed, "Boy, I never met anyone who likes to throw food around like you." He wiped his face with a tea towel. "I can tell you never went hungry. I know you used to pitch stuff all over back at the Old House, but I thought that was part of a big scam, pretendin' to be Josette. Remember how you used to piss him off? And every mornin' I'd pick up the broken dishes and clean your dinner off the dining room wall."

"I don't know what on earth you're talking about," Maggie responded in a monotone.

"That's 'cause the doctor brainwashed ya to forget everythin', but I told ya all about it later." The young woman shook her head in disbelief. "Maggie…I told you what happened, how you were held prisoner by a vampire—not me, the other vampire—_I told you_ and you believed me; w-why are ya lookin' at me like that?"

"I would never believe anything you said. You're delusional. I should have done something about it sooner, because now it's too late. I'm going to die in here. We're all going to die…"

* * *

The following night Maggie did nothing but holler and wail nonstop. It went on for hours. Willie was ready to stuff a sock in her mouth, understanding now how Barnabas had felt when he allowed her to run off, presumably to leap from Widow's Hill.

Overcome with stress and exhaustion, the man eventually zoned out—or passed out, it was hard to tell which—and his head slumped over onto the lumpy duffle bag.

* * *

Willie was back in his room at the Old House. Spread before the roaring fire was a similar scene: The blankets, china plates, candles and crystal—a perfect picnic date. They were both feeling pretty tipsy as Willie settled into a cocoon of pillows and Maggie cozied up beside him.

"Do you want to make love?" She whispered.

"No." Willie would not take advantage of this situation. He would stick to the plan, even if it killed him, which it probably would. "You don't want me, you just wanna escape. All ya gotta do is wait for me to fall asleep and take the truck keys. I wasn't supposed to tell you that, 'cause I'll haveta stop ya unless ya trick me."

"That won't be necessary; I have my own plan. This Josette act is all an elaborate con to put Barnabas off his guard. I'm walking out of here today, and I'm taking you with me." Willie started to protest but she put a finger to his lips. "Don't worry; nothing bad will happen ever again, because I'm going to protect you."

"Okay." He wanted to believe her. He wanted to very much.

* * *

While he slept, Maggie had methodically made her way around the room, pushing each stone in the wall, searching for the trigger mechanism that open the door and free her. The young man awoke as she approached the entrance and reached for the bottom step.

Willie flew across the room and grabbed her abruptly. As he dragged his wife away from the steps

Maggie's shrieks punished his ear drum until he clamped his hand over her mouth. She bit his hand, chomped on it good and hard, then struggled out of his grasp and shoved the man away.

"Get me out of here! Somebody! Anybody!" The woman shouted at the top of her lungs. Willie backed away, clutching his wounded hand.

"Please, Maggie, don't be mad. I'm just tryin' to—"

"Can anyone hear me! Help! Help! Help! HELP!" She continued to holler.

He sat on the floor, leaning against the cold wall. "Nobody can hear ya, so ya might as well shuddup."

Both heads snapped in the direction of the stone door as it grated against the floor, opening to reveal Barnabas and Julia as they stood at the threshold.

"Mr. Collins, thank God!" Maggie cried, rushing up the steps and into the vampire's arms. "You saved me!"

Barnabas comforted the trembling girl. "It's alright, now. I trust you're not injured." She shook her head as tears streamed down both cheeks. "That's a relief. Go now with Dr. Hoffman. Your father and young Haskell are waiting."

Julia left with the weeping woman and Barnabas entered the secret room, sighing at his blundering manservant who suddenly ducked his head, covering it with both arms.

"We convinced them to remain at the gate. Sam Evans has a firearm and you would not have left here alive. It was fortunate you revealed to me your location, because they were preparing to call in Federal law enforcement."

"I was afraid you were gonna hurt Maggie 'cause a' what I said."

"Wherever did you get that notion? Contrary to what you may think, when there is a dilemma, my first course of action is not to kill the person involved."

He looked up, lowering his arms. "It's not?" That was news to Willie.

"Julia merely paid the good woman a visit the following day and hypnotized her again. This entire venture was reckless, foolhardy and unnecessary."

"Oh, shit. Maggie's really mad at me now."

"That, my boy, is the least of your troubles. Your wife's wrath is nothing compared to that of my wife, and apparently you have disrupted her schedule. Now, blow out the candles and come home with me."

They returned to the Old House in uncomfortable silence, whereupon Barnabas marched Willie to his room and, to prevent further mischief, tied his wrists together to the brass headboard. The vampire then locked the door behind him when he left.

Now everybody was mad at him.


	9. The Ghost of Christmas Presents

**December 25, 1982**

Willie was sprung the next day by Dr. Hoffman.

"You are on the top of Santa's Naughty List this year," she remarked with what could almost be considered a sense of humor.

"I wanna change my clothes." There was no response. "Do ya mind?"

"Not at all." She folded her arms indifferently.

"Are ya gonna follow me into the bathroom too? 'Cause I gotta take a wicked piss." He caught his reflection in the mirror. "And there's SpaghettiOs in my hair."

"You have exactly five minutes. I will meet you downstairs."

Willie sat in the kitchen as Julia slammed a coffee mug on the table in front of him. It wasn't like her to make her own breakfast. Dr. Hoffman was not the domestic type. The young man could just imagine what she could do to ruin a turkey. Then again, she would probably try to bring it back to life, to harvest its gizzards and generate its own stuffing. A plucked zombie turkey would then be seen terrorizing the countryside, walking around on drumsticks.

"Are you listening to me?" Willie flinched but did not look up when the doctor shook his shoulder. "Where is your common sense? Endangering Barnabas, the experiment, your child and your wife; it could have been a disaster. The only reason you are not in jail right now is because you work for a Collins, and your boss did a lot of fast talking last night."

Julia sat across from him, looking stern and serious.

"This is the deal we made: You are now in our custody; Barnabas and I have assumed complete responsibility for your future actions, so you will follow our orders, and do not leave this house without one of us. Any attempt to bother Maggie Evans or sabotage my project again, and I will slap you in a straightjacket and cart you off to Wyndcliff Sanitarium. Is that perfectly clear?"

"Her name is Loomis, Mrs. Collins." The servant played with the spoon in his coffee. "Only, wait, you two aren't _really_ married, are ya? 'Cause your husband is dead. Couldn't show up at town hall with _his_ birth certificate, could ya?"

"Do not provoke me, young man. I can make your stay here very unpleasant, or—you can do as you're told, help implement a medical breakthrough and, just maybe, after a suitable period, Maggie will forgive you." She continued in a confidential tone, "I may be able to help that along."

"Do you just hypnotize people all the time to get whatever ya want? Is that why Barnabas does everythin' you say?"

Dr. Hoffman stood abruptly. "There are no pickups today, so you may catch up on the cleaning chores you've neglected." She leaned across the table to look him in the eye. "Barnabas and I will have Christmas dinner tonight at Collinwood, with our family, so you will have to be here alone. I don't want any trouble."

Willie shook his head. "No trouble," he whispered. It was Christmas, and his 26th birthday.

* * *

The Old House was damp and dark, silent except for wind whistling through the chimney. Back when he was a vampire, Willie could have stood on the roof and seen festive lights in the village, heard strains of caroling, but not anymore.

Christmas was the crappiest day of the year, but it wasn't always that way. When Willie was a kid, his mom's boss always gave him two dollars (one for his birthday, one for Christmas), which purchased half a year's worth of comic books. Later, at St. Jerome's Home for Boys, church groups sent each child his own box containing new toothbrushes and socks, used paperbacks and, very often, a candy cane or chocolate Santa. As a young adult, his partner presented him with an extra round of drinks and a hooker, but those good times were gone. Tonight he would shovel snow on the front portico, without even the hope of a plate of cold leftovers from Mrs. Johnson.

Gripping a single candle, Willie trudged down the basement stairs to the dairy cellar where the shovel was stored. Suddenly a hand burst through the dirt floor and grabbed him by the ankle.

"Shove off, Jason, I'm not in the mood." Willie kicked the forearm away.

"Come now, where's your holiday spirit?" His partner's ghost was now beside him, grinning. "Why, he's right here!"

"I got work to do."

"Not on Christmas! Why aren't you nestled in the bosom of your sweetheart before a toasty fire?"

"Because she hates me. I kinda drugged her and held her prisoner in a cemetery for a few days."

"Ya see now, that vampire and his woman are a bad influence on you. Well, never mind, you'll make it right. Nothin' says _I'm sorry_ like a shiny bauble." The Irishman began to rummage through his old sea chest. "Is there anythin' left ya didn't pawn?"

"I didn't pawn nothin'. Just gave somethin' to my mom, is all."

"Ah, perfect!" The ghost held up two teardrop earrings. "Emerald isles for your red-headed colleen."

"But you stole them from Mrs. Stoddard. What if somebody—?"

"Don't you worry now, 'twas meant to be. Everythin' happens for a reason."

"What if the reason is that you're stupid and make bad decisions?" he replied absentmindedly, smiling at the sparkling jewels as he held them to the candlelight.

But Jason continued to shoo him towards the stairs. "Off you go, lad. Good luck."

"No, stop. I'm not allowed to leave the house."

"Beggin' your pardon, I thought it was a grown man I was speakin' to, not some schoolboy in detention," the spirit scoffed. "The Willie Loomis I knew took guff from no one. Let me know if you find where ya left your balls."

"Fuck you, Jason. If you're so smart, how'd you end up dead?

"There now, don't be like that when I'm only thinkin' o' you." Willie snorted derisively. "And you better think about your priorities. If you want to win back your lass, the time is now or never." He winked at his young friend. "If you hurry there and back, no one's the wiser."

* * *

Willie rang the doorbell at the Evans' cottage clutching his presents. Sam swung open the door with the gusto of a celebratory drunk.

"Merry Chris—! Oh, it's you." He started to close the door then gave the guest a second glance, "Is that for me?"

Willie held out the bottle of scotch. "Yessir." His voice was a cocktail of trepidation and hope.

"In that case, don't stand there like a lost dog, come on in." He yanked the young man through the door.

"Pop, what do you think you're doing?" Maggie was curled up on the sofa, covered by a multicolored afghan, and sipping hot chocolate. She glared at the intruder.

"But it's Christmas, sweetheart. I'll punch his face in tomorrow, eh, Loomis?" he laughed loudly as he slapped his son-in-law on the back.

Joe jumped up from his seat, grabbed a box from under the tree and approached the guest.

"We're glad you're here, because Maggie would like to talk to you. But first, happy holidays." He thrust the gift into the young man's hands.

"For m-me?" Willie was flustered. He tore off the wrapping and stared at the polyester-blend Prussian blue necktie nestled in white tissue paper.

Joe was unsure how to interpret the man's reaction, or lack thereof. "I've never seen you wear a tie, so I figured you don't have any, and I thought this might come in handy when you go on job interviews."

"Uh, thank you." Willie bit his lip in embarrassment, regretting now that Joe had been so callously dumped from his list.

"I bet he's going to tell us now that he never got a Christmas present before," Maggie commented sarcastically from the sidelines. "I wish I had gifts to give out this year, but I missed the last few shopping days."

"I'm sorry," her husband whispered. "This is for you." He pulled out a small package wrapped in linen writing paper and sealed with candle wax, and placed it in her lap.

Maggie almost flung the gift into the fire when she felt through the gift wrap the nature of its contents. She opened the package, briefly examined the earrings, then handed them back to Willie.

"You can return these to Mr. Collins. I don't want something you've stolen from your boss."

"But _I _didn't steal 'em."

Joe discretely guided Mr. Evans into the kitchen. "Come on, Sam, let's make some coffee."

Maggie motioned her husband to sit in the chair nearby. "Willie, let's face it, this isn't working out. I'm sorry, but this marriage—our whole relationship—has been one huge mistake."

Willie wiped his nose on his sleeve and stared at the Christmas tree, watching the twinkling colored lights. There was an angel on top. She turned and smiled at him as if everything was going to be alright.

"You're too unstable, and I don't know how to deal with it anymore," she continued, on the edge of tears. "I'm tired and hurt and angry and scared of you. This has to end."

Maggie waited for him to protest, but there was no response.

"Do you understand what I'm saying? We are getting a divorce, and then I don't want to ever see you again…Willie?" She pushed his shoulder. "Don't you dare zone out on me."

"I hear ya." He could feel his heart beating in his chest. It sent blood coursing through his veins, pulsing in his ears.

"If you don't believe me, I will get a restraining order and have you arrested, or I'll get Pop's rifle; you know I can use it."

"Okay." The young man made an effort to breathe normally.

"You're sick, Willie, and you refuse to get help. At least, go back to Mr. Collins and his wife; they've been very good to you."

Everybody wanted him back at the Old House, on a leash, where he belonged.

"W-what about…?"

"You can't even say the word." Now Maggie was really disgusted. "Well, don't worry! I release you from any paternal obligation, financial or otherwise."

Willie was silent; there was nothing to say. He had everything a man could ever want and then fucked it up as only Willie Loomis could. _But break my heart, for I must hold my tongue._ He looked up to see her studying him with those big brown eyes.

"Don't cry," the treetop angel advised. "Not in front of them."

"I think you should go now," Maggie said after what seemed to her to be an uncomfortable silence.

As if on cue, Joe and Sam came bustling into the room.

"Did I hear you were leaving?" Joe escorted him to the door and shook his hand. "Take care of yourself; I mean it. And have a good new year."

Willie was on the front steps when Sam beckoned him back.

"Here." The old man begrudgingly handed over the bottle of scotch. "Otherwise she'll yell at me too."


	10. Goodnight, Sweet Prince

_Willie decides to throw a party with his two best, albeit dead, friends._

* * *

Willie tossed the emerald and diamond earrings into a snow bank and climbed into his truck, but he did not return to his philanthropic patrons at the Old House. The idea of spending the rest of his miserable, worthless life with those ghouls sucked out whatever joy was left in his soul. The despondent servant drove to the comforting surroundings of Eagle Hill Cemetery and soon found himself ensconced in the peaceful solitude of the secret room.

Libation in hand, the young man surveyed the room; the shadows returned his gaze approvingly.

"We need a party," he announced suddenly and proceeded to light all the candles. When the candleholders ran out, he stuck the remaining ones to the floor with melted wax until the small cell was aglow.

Willie opened the bottle of scotch and shuddered; it was going to taste like shit. All alcohol did after Dr. Hoffman hypnotized that time, but that didn't stop him from wanting it and forcing it down. He set out a china platter and dumped the contents of the first prescription bottle: Antidepressants, because no one wants to be depressed, so that seemed a good place to start—and there was a smiley face on the bottle. After that he would down the Valium (which was for his anxiety), the painkillers (no explanation needed), and finish up with the sleeping pills, so he could get a good night's rest. The best rest ever, with no bad dreams ever again. He mixed them all up on the plate and started to pop them like party peanuts.

_Get help, Willie_, that's what everyone said. _Follow doctor's orders._ Blue pills, red pills, yellow pills, dead pills.

His gaze fell upon the discarded book on the floor. Hamlet briefly regarded him from the cover then returned his attention to his friend's skull. Willie opened to a random page.

_"To be or not to be_—that's a stupid question. _Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune or to take arms against a sea of troubles_ _and"_ (he held up two pills)_ "by opposing, end them_." (and down the hatch).

Willie began to arrange the caplets in color patterns.

"_To die, to sleep—perchance to dream: For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, when we have shuffled off to Buffalo for the last time, must give us pause."_

Willie tossedthe book across the room. "Man, you are a killjoy! Couldn't you ever write anythin' happy? This party sucks."

He began to sing, loudly and off-key. There was no one to complain. The impromptu medley began with _Happy Birthday to Me_, followed by a verse of _Jingle Bells_ and _London Bridge is Falling Down. _

The ghost of Sarah Collins appeared beside him, tugging on his arm. "That's my favorite song…or it was."

"I know. I wanna invite you to my party. Where's Jason? I want him too." He hugged the little girl. "You guys are my friends."

"Does he have a favorite song?"

"Yeah, but he said not to—oh, what the fuck." He took another swig of scotch and began to sing softly, gently, melodically.

_"There was a dusky Eurasian maid,  
__In old Karachi she plied her trade,  
__And in Calcutta, and in Madras,  
__And, by special request, up the Khyber Pass._

_Black velvet was full of joy  
__For every Dublin sailor boy  
__She guaranteed to please  
__And the most that it costs you was five rupees."_

"That's a pretty song. Will you teach it to me?" the child asked.

"He will not." Jason was in the room as well. "This place looks a storm blew through. And what in hell's blazes is around your throat? That is not how to tie a necktie."

"I dunno how, so I did a half-hitch knot. Now I can do this." He pulled the tie into a noose position.

"What are you on about?" His translucent companion removed the tie and stowed it in the boy's duffle.

"_I have of late, but wherefore I know not, lost all my mirth_. Wherefore really means _why_, ya know, not _where_. And mirth—"

"I know what it means. Do me a favor? Find somethin' else to read."

"Jason, what's that story about the stingy old Scrooge? There was the ghost of Christmas past," he toasted little Sarah, "Christmas Present," with a nod to Jason, and holding up a handful of pills, "And the ghost of Christmas Yet to Come."

The Irishman whispered into Sarah's ear and Willie watched distractedly as she evaporated. In recognition of the contrast, the young man held his own opaque hand to his face.

_"Oh, that this too too solid flesh would melt."_

Willie matter-of-factly removed his jacket and shirt, reached into his duffle and pulled out the straight-edge razor.

"You gave me this when I was 15. A hundred and one uses, ya said, remember?"

"Give me that," Jason reached for the razor but his companion pulled away. "Now what do ya think you're doin'?"

"We'll have fun again, just like old times. He stared at the blade. "Aw, Jason, I want the hurt to stop." His voice trailed off. "I wanna go someplace where there isn't any trouble. Do ya suppose there is such a place, Toto? There must be. It's not a place ya can get to by a boat or with a train—"

"Stop talkin' nonsense. You're a young man yet, Willie. You have your whole life ahead of you."

"No, I'm old, too old to be a busboy." He waved the razor carelessly in the air. "Ha, they think they can boss me 'round and I haveta do everything they say, well, I'll show 'em."

"Really. You consider this a good way to assert yourself?" the Irishman looked incredulous, but Willie ignored him, bursting once more into song.

_"You should never argue with a crazy mind  
You oughta know by now  
And if that's what you have in mind  
Yeah, that's what it's all about,  
Good luck movin up, cause I'm movin' out—_Hey, look at this."

He started to carve the skin on his inner arm. "This is the design of a stencil I did in the sewin' room on the second floor." Jason cried out in alarm but Willie just laughed. "Oh, calm down, I'm barely breakin' skin. Funny how I was always scared a' needles, when they don't make hardly any blood, and now look at all this."

* * *

Sarah located David at the Great House who alerted Cousin Barnabas. He flew to the cemetery as Julia telephoned the hospital, yelling furiously into the handset when informed that the town's only ambulance was being used to transport Mrs. Puckett to her daughter's holiday dinner.

The vampire found Willie unconscious and alone in the secret room, covered in blood and multicolored vomit. He gathered the boy into his arms and raced toward the gate and the sound of approaching sirens. Willie was then strapped onto the gurney and lifted into the vehicle. He came to as one medic lightly slapped his face. Another was applying pressure to the numerous cuts on his arms.

"Wake up, sir, you have to stay awake. Try to keep your eyes open."

Willie squinted into the man's face. "'S really bright. Smells bad in here."

"Yes, sir, it sure does."

"Who the hell're you?"

"I'm Paul and the lady keeping your blood from pouring out all over our ambulance is Emily."

"Aw, shit."

Paul radioed the emergency room, "CHER, we have a mid-twenties male with numerous lacerations to both arms who appears to be in hypovolemic shock. He also ingested and regurgitated an unknown quantity of alcohol and prescription medications." He spoke to Willie, "Do you know what pills you took, sir?"

"Red, y'low, bue…"

"I can give you a list." That was Dr. Hoffman. Willie turned his head to see Barnabas and Julia sitting on the passenger bench on the other side of the ambulance. She clutched the vampire's hand as, with the other, he tried to dab stains from his suit with a handkerchief. "He must have—taken them from my medical bag."

"Looks like they all came back up, but they'll pump your stomach anyway," Emily offered.

_Dumb ass. Shoulda just jumped off the cliff like a normal person. _

**End of Part I**


	11. Return of the Psycho Zombie

**Part II  
****Chapter 11 – Return of the Psycho Zombie**

**July 1984**

_18 months later. _

Willie had a vague sensation of light. Something soapy, wet and warm glided across his chest, under his arm.

* * *

Something was being pushed into his mouth. A spoon. A pill. A straw.

* * *

Someone was holding his hand. There was music in the distance.

* * *

"_The tiny ship was tossed  
__If not for the courage of the fearless crew  
__The Minnow would be lost  
__The Minnow would be lost…" _

* * *

Someone was holding his hand again, and bracing his arm, guiding him as he slowly shuffled. Willie tripped and went down on his knees.

"Oh, gosh, are you alright?" Willie collapsed into a sitting position on the floor. "It's those slippers, they're too big for you." The patient blinked and focused his gaze. There, staring back with concern, was an obese young man with curly brown hair.

"Oo da duck're oo?" The words came out slowly and with great difficulty, as if the muscles in his tongue had abandoned all sense memory.

The big boy jumped back in alarm. "Nurse Jessie! He looked at me! He talked!"

Willie looked around in confusion as he was lifted up by a large black guy, carried into the infirmary and seated on an examination table. The aide continued to support the young man as a nurse took his vital signs and looked into his eyes with a penlight…like that lady doctor used to.

"Hi, there. Can you hear my voice? Do you see me?" The woman sounded like an idiot. Willie drew up his hand to see how far away she really was and unexpectedly touched her face. The orderly pulled it away, not roughly, but with authority.

"Can you tell me your name?" Obviously she was an idiot. Only when Willie tried to answer, his mouth didn't work again, and nothing coherent came out.

"That's okay. You haven't spoken to us for a very long time. Just nod if you know what your name is."

Now Willie felt like an idiot. He nodded, which brought on a wave of dizziness.

"Good." She smiled warmly. "That's a good start."

Then another black man came in, but he was wearing a lab coat instead of scrubs.

"I hear we have a breakthrough. Let's see our young patient." He picked up Willie's hand and put it in his own to shake. "Hello, my name is Dr. Gordon. You are actually under the care of Dr. Julia, but she is on an extended leave of absence, so I'll fill in." _Julia—Kauffman? That was the lady doctor._ "Do you know where you are?"

"Hosp'dal?"

"This is Wyndcliff Sanitarium. It's a psychiatric institution."

"Nu' house." Willie wasn't surprised; that's where you put the loony tunes.

Gordon ignored his comment. "You've been with us a long time. Do you remember any of it?" The doctor smiled and the aide laughed. "I have to say you were quite a handful when you first arrived."

"Sowy."

"No, no, don't apologize. That's why folks come here—to work out their problems, right?"

_Someplace where there isn't any trouble. Problems get solved. Folks get better. _

"Di' I ge' bedder?"

"After Dr. Julia prescribed your medication and course of treatment, well, your brain took a rest for a while." Dr. Gordon scanned the young man's chart. "Good lord, she had the patient on all these at once, in addition to the ECT?"

"Yes, sir," the nurse stammered. "The doctor said—"

"Catatonic schizophrenia, indeed," he read grumbling. "I wonder if that was the reason for the treatment, or the result." He turned to Jessica. "Did upstairs okay this?"

"Well, I—actually, I'm not sure."

"The other tards call him Psycho Zombie," the aide volunteered cheerfully. That didn't sound at all promising. Willie stared at the floor, hugging himself. "Stay cool, man, it's just a nickname. Everybody likes you—the ones you haven't attacked, anyway."

"Okay, Leroi, that's enough," the young woman warned. Willie started to rock back and forth and put his head on her shoulder when Nurse Jessica hugged him. She smelled like flowers, and he could see down the top of her uniform.

The doctor slammed the case file closed. "I'm putting in a call to Julia Hoffman today. That list needs to be modified immediately."

"Now, Doc," Leroi interjected. "Do you remember when this dude first came in here? He was bouncing off the walls, even tried to cut Dr. Ned with a popsicle stick. Those meds where the only thing that calmed him down."

"Our job here is to help patients to recover with medication and therapy, not drug them into submission."

Leroi nodded a vague affirmation. Doc didn't have to deal with Psycho Zombie in the ward.

* * *

Willie spent the remainder of the day parked in the TV Room. This place was a little piece of heaven. They were going to feed him, give him drugs, and let him watch television all day. The only problem was someone else had the remote control. A bug-eyed, skeletal freak who could not stop twitching, made threats to the game show contestants on the screen, furiously taking notes on a yellow pad. His head shot in Willie's direction.

"Imposter! You're not Psycho Zombie, the spell is broken." He snapped, and scribbled that on his pad. "I will now call you Psycho Elf. You need a new mission." Bug Eyes thought for a moment. "I'll get back to you."

Willie looked to his other companions. There was a white-haired lady who cried at everything. On the TV, _Let's Make a Deal_ was playing, and Monty Hall handed out $5 bills to anyone who had chewing gum in their purse. This made the woman cry. In the audience was a man dressed as Little Red Riding Hood. Again she cried. When the Hallmark Card commercial came on, the floodgates opened.

On his other side was a haggard old man, or maybe he was young; it was hard to tell. He stared at the ceiling with vacant hollow eyes and drooled. The gentleman smelled like he had pissed himself.

A woman was staring at him from the doorway. Wearing denim cutoffs and a tank top, she had long, dark hair and demonic green eyes. The young lady approached Willie, sat next to him and grabbed his crotch.

"It's time for your physical therapy."

She was snatched up by a passing nurse. "No thank you, Angela. I've told you before, leave our zombie friends alone."

"'S okay, I'm no' a zom'ie," Willie corrected the lady as she ushered Angela out of the room.

* * *

After the umpteenth godforsaken game show, the Willie pushed himself into a standing position and began to carefully walk around the room, talking aloud. No one took note of this behavior as the young man began to teach himself how to speak again. Others were talking to themselves too, but they were crazy.

The simple act of walking required a great deal of concentration and precaution. His slippers were indeed several sizes too big, as were the cotton pajama bottoms, which pooled around his ankles, and a grossly oversized, stained T-shirt which hung to his knees.

Willie wandered into the Common Room, gravitating toward a window barricaded with metal grid work and bars. Outside, he observed the fat dude sitting on a picnic bench, smoking. It looked like a pleasant, sunny day—not like that place he was before where it always rained and thundered. Willie searched for the exit, but an aide was there in an instant, barring his path.

"Back away from the door."

"Ca' I go ou'side doo?" Willie asked, smiling politely.

"Some other time. That's a privilege you have to earn. You finish your walk in here today."

Just then yet another orderly unceremoniously plopped him into a wheelchair.

"There you are, Psycho. Come on, it's potty time." He whisked the patient away.

"Duck off!"

"Hey, look at you, all walkin' and talkin'. That's great, now let's go."

"I don' wan' do."

"And that's a cryin' shame, but I got 12 tards on this shift, and your reservation is for right now." He wheeled Willie toward the men's restroom. "Otherwise you'll just have to go later. Then you have to use the sign-out sheet, wait for an aide, and end up having an accident."

"Nooo, I wan'..." Willie wasn't sure what he wanted, but he knew it did not involve having a personal potty helper.

"Now you never gave me problems before. Come on, it's me, Mitch. You and me are buddies."

"'Kay…buddy." Willie muttered, resigned. There were no urinals, and the stalls had no doors. The young man looked around in dismay.

"Nobody's gonna bother you. Just please hurry up; you're gonna put me off schedule."

* * *

A trio of chimes was heard in the Day Room. Some patients jumped eagerly into the lineup, some wandered in the opposite direction; others did nothing. Eventually, the queue was complete, heads counted and the group was ushered into the dining hall.

Willie was handed a tray, laden with an assortment of soft food. He looked for a place to sit when someone took his arm, directing him to one in a succession of long tables.

"This way; you always sit with me." It was the fat guy from earlier. Willie looked askance as his dining companion reached over to tuck a napkin in his shirt and proceeded to feed him.

"Wha' ya doin'?" He knocked the plastic spoon away.

"But I always help you to eat," the man replied, surprised and hurt. "I'm your best friend."

"I don' e'en know oo da duck oo are." The fat guy stared at his plate and began to weep—quietly at first, but increasing rapidly to an uncomfortable volume. Willie looked around with apprehension, but no one intervened. He gave the man a little push on the shoulder. "So, oo da duck are oo? If yer my bes' fend, I odda know yer name."

"Stanley Mendelssohn, like the composer," the other answered with a hiccup. "Sometimes they call me Fat Boy," he added in a small voice.

"O'ay, Stan'ey, stop saltin' yer food. I godda do dis mydelf, bu' oo help ou' if I mish my mout'. 'Ow's da'?" The man nodded with a big, snotty sniff. "Wha's dis? Mush, mush, mush an' mush."

"Sloppy Joes, applesauce, mashed potatoes and tapioca pudding. There's a lot of old people here."

"Soun's goo' t' me; I ea' anythin'."

Most of the food hit its target but, after a few minutes, Willie zoned out again. When he returned to reality, his buddy was eating from the tray.

"Stan'ey, da's mine."

"I'm still hungry, and you never finish anything."

"Gimme pud'in."

"We'll share." And Stanley proceeded to ladle alternating spoonfuls of tapioca in Willie's mouth.

Thus cemented the friendship of Fat Boy and Psycho Zombie.


	12. Art, Color and Light

**Chapter 12 – Art, Color and Light**

* * *

After dinner, Stanley escorted his friend into the Art Therapy room to show off the bird house he was constructing out of painted popsicle sticks and glue. Willie was not permitted to handle the sticks, not after he had allegedly stabbed Dr. Ned with one last year, so he was given a drawing to color. Guy in a tri-corner hat playing a drum with an American flag in the background.

"'S'upid." This was kindergarten crap.

The lady in blue smiled at him. She looked like a teacher, or somebody's mom. "We're going to pin up all the pictures in the Common Room to decorate for Independence Day."

Willie made a face. "Wanna watch TV."

The therapist smiled and patted his arm. "You think this is a childish activity, but what you're really doing is showing me what colors you use to express yourself, and getting back some of that old eye-hand coordination. So, let's see how well you can stay within the lines, okay?"

She situated a blue crayon in his hand. He dropped it and picked up green instead to color the man's face.

"Wicka Witch," he grinned at Stanley. The young man made the uniform black and illustrated the flag in purple, gold and orange. The background sky was a murky gray interspersed with slashes of red. In the end Willie was quite pleased with the result; it stood out from the other efforts, although some of those were just scribbles. At the bottom he signed it _Syko__Phsyco__ Psycho _then stood impatiently by the door, waiting to be sprung.

"Excuse me, the session isn't finished yet."

But Willie could hear music from the television in the next room. It was a voice he recognized: the gangster from his favorite movie. What was his name? Little guy, but tough.

"_I'm a Yankee Doodle Dandy,  
__A Yankee Doodle do or die…"_

"Mr. Loomis, I do wish you would sit down," the therapist intoned.

"_I wiss oo wassa wissin' well, so I cou' tie a bucke' an' sink ya_," he snapped, making a double jab in the air. "_Oo dir'y ra', Pow pow!_" (2)

Miss Susan pointed to a molded plastic chair across the room. "You may have a seat in the corner and think about what you just said."

"Wha' for?" he whined indignantly. "I wan' see da mo'ie, 'a's all."

"Sit down," she repeated in an even tone with just a hint of warning. "Or I will call an aide to help you."

"I'll help," Stanley was on his feet, guiding his friend to the corner chair. "You can't threaten the staff," he whispered, "You'll end up in ITA. Apologize to Miss Susan."

ITA sounded like it was a bad thing. "Sorry!" Willie called back to the therapist. "I's jus' f'om da mo'ie. I ain' so tough."

Willie pulled his knees up onto the chair and watched as the other patients continued their artistic endeavors.

Moira was designing a floral arrangement, which she hoped would be chosen as the holiday centerpiece for her dining table. She drove pink, blue and white plastic flowers into a green brick of Styrofoam. But the stems would not cooperate and the whole thing looked lopsided. Brimming with tears, the old lady threw it in the wastebasket.

A petite woman worked industriously weaving a basket. Oblivious to her neighbor's despair, the patient hummed happily and occasionally talked to herself—or the basket.

Bug Eyes, who had been styling himself a protective helmet out of aluminum foil, looked over his shoulder with a twitch and sauntered over to Willie in a clandestine manner.

"I have your assignment." He said under his breath, handing the young man a slip of paper. "Memorize, then eat it."

"Oo are oo 'gain?"

"If I told you my name, the CIA would have to kill everyone in this room." Bug Eyes touched his finger to nose and returned to his seat. Willie unfolded the paper. It contained a meaningless code of symbols.

On the opposite wall hung a poster Willie remembered seeing before in a library book about impressing art. Blues and yellows in a night sky, swirling around and around like the ocean at high tide. It seemed serene, but a dark, malevolent thing rose up on the left side, reaching for the sky, to devour the stars, to kill the light.

"You've been looking at that for twenty minutes, Willie." Miss Susan had pulled up a chair and was sitting next to him. "Do you like Van Gogh?" The therapist seemed pleased.

"I dunno; he wen' nuddy. Why don' oo ge'…" _Shit, the artist who painted with little dots, what was his name?_ Willie grabbed his head in frustration.

"Never mind, it's okay. I wanted to talk about your picture." She held out his artwork. "You used very vivid, imaginative colors." The patient was unsure if that was a criticism or compliment and so didn't respond. "You must be very creative."

_Sweeping fireplaces, washing dishes, scrubbing toilets. _

"No' really."

"What's this mark here? Did you give the drummer a ring?"

"Ca'ful, i's s'arp. It can cu' ya."

"Then I'll be very careful. Can you tell me why you drew red coming from the man's mouth?"

Willie shrugged. "He 'ad S'oppy Does fo' dinner."

* * *

Closure Group was the final session each day, from which Willie was excused as he had not participated in the corresponding morning session. So he got to watch the end of the film with the zombies. And Bug Eyes was gone so Willie even got to hold the remote control.

The gangster (only he wasn't a gangster in this movie) was now singing and dancing, but he had grown old, and was afraid that no one wanted him anymore.

"Okay, Psycho, ready to have fun? It's potty time." This was a different aide from his afternoon chaperone.

"Shh," Willie waved him away, "a' da c'mercial."

"Right now," He grabbed the patient by the arm and yanked him up. "Come on, we're going for a walk." With that the orderly proceeded to pull the young man from the room.

"'Ur a s'ithead—ow. Ow!" Willie tripped on his slippers and landed on the floor.

"Steven, is there a problem?" The head nurse looked up from her desk.

"I can handle it. Psycho and I are just having a disagreement about using the restroom."

"Don't call him that." With a no nonsense attitude, the nurse marched over and looked down at the patient, who sat on the floor, his arms folded his arms in defiance.

"Young man, an institution of this size cannot operate without rules, and they apply to everyone. Now, you have a choice. You can cooperate with your aide and use the toilet, or you can wear a diaper."

Willie stumbled to his feet. "I can go now, da c'mercial's on."

* * *

At 9 pm, a nurse rolled the drug trolley into the Common Room. From the stampede to get to the head of the line, you would have thought she was handing out $100 bills. At the end Willie was handed a paper cup of water, and another smaller cup containing a blue capsule, a white pill and yellow caplet.

"Wassa'?"

"It's medicine." She smiled in a condescending manner. "To help you get better."

More like drugs to make him a zombie again, like those droolers sitting in front of the television.

"Wassi' fo'?"

"I have no idea; I'm not your doctor. Would you like to discuss your course of treatment?" Willie nodded as the nurse checked the boy's chart. "That's fine; I'll make you an appointment tomorrow with Doctor—oh, Dr. Julia's still away. Maybe Dr. Gordon is available."

"'Kay."

"Take these now, here where I can see you."

"Ye' ma'am." He tossed the cup back and crushed the little container into his pants pocket.

"Open wide." The young man demonstrated that there was nothing left in his mouth.

* * *

In the privacy of his bedroom, Willie retrieved the container and poured out the pills.

"That was smooth. Good job." Stanley grinned with admiration as he pulled a box of writing paper from his nightstand drawer. "We can put them with the rest. This is just a cover up. See?" He removed the false cardboard bottom to reveal of stash of medication.

"Dey yours?"

"No, they're yours. You started spitting out your pills about two weeks ago, so I saved them. Never throw them away because they'll find out if you put them in the trash. I think it's best to wait until there's an opportunity to flush them in the toilet."

"Don' do dat," his roommate replied, figuring they probably had some kind of street value.

"Bug Eyes has been stuffing his in the sofa cushions in the Common Room for over a year."

Stanley changed into striped pajamas and robe. There was nothing in Willie's drawer, so there was no need to undress. He rolled his pants' legs up until they didn't touch the floor and pondered how to pull together the excess material at the elastic waistband into a knot. Maybe if he had a rubber band…

"Deese yours?" He indicated the clothes.

"No, they belonged to Scott; he was used to be my roommate before you, but he died. When you were transferred here you had nothing but a hospital gown. Why don't you call somebody to bring your clothes and other things?" Willie looked perplexed, which made Stanley suddenly look like he was to cry again. "What's the matter, are you an orphan? Don't you have any family?"

Willie thought hard for a moment as faces came into his mind. Maggie. Jason. Lyddie. Barnabas. Luke Skywalker. "Sore, I dink so."

"Good," the fat man was relieved. "Then they come and see you. Ask Nurse Janet tomorrow to let you use the phone. My mother visits just about every day." Stanley lowered his voice. "She brings me McDonald's and pizza and cigarettes, not to mention..." he motioned to his secret stash of snacks in the bottom drawer.

Willie shrugged with apparent apathy. It was very possible nobody even knew where he was, or maybe they did and just didn't care. Julia wasn't interested, and she was his doctor.

There was no handle on the inside of the bedroom door, just two little lights-the green one was currently lit. There was a sound of a card sliding and the door opened. One last time, an orderly appeared to take Willie to the bathroom so he could wash up, after which his toothbrush was replaced in a locked cabinet. He was escorted back to his room and the attendant produced a straightjacket.

"Wha—wassa' for? No." Willie backed away, shaking his head.

"C'mon, Psycho, you always have a night restraint. Lots of people do."

Willie slid under the bed. "I din' do nuddin' w'ong."

"It's for your safety. Sometimes you aggressive or fall out of bed or go for walks in your sleep." The aide pushed a button on the little walkie talkie clipped to his shoulder. "Send some backup to 28B."

"That's true, you have terrible nightmares," his bunkmate offered. "Nurse Gina had to give me earplugs."

The orderly continued in a concerned, friendly voice. "Aw, look. You didn't get one star on your chart today, Psycho; you're gonna have to try harder." He had started to pull the bed away from the wall and wasn't even looking at any chart.

"How many stars did I get?" Stanley asked eagerly, sitting on the edge of his bed.

"Go check. It's on the door."

The young man was more than a little upset to see four stickers on his chart when he had expected six and began to sob loudly.

"Not now, Fat Boy, I got my hands full. I'll give you another star if you shut up."

Backup arrived and together the two orderlies retrieved Willie, and got him secured and strapped into his bed without further ado. After they left, the patient stared up at the ceiling as tears of frustration slid down the sides of his face.

"Would you like one of my Twinkies?" the large man asked kindly. Willie declined to respond as the other snacked away on cream-filled sponge cake. Shit, his nose was starting to run and there was nothing he could do about it.

"I usually read to you for a while before lights out. It's sort of a nighttime ritual we have. We're in the middle of an incredible mystery story about—"

"S'ut da duck up!" His head shot up to see roomie all tucked in, cozy and nice, like he was at a slumber party. "Why I godda wear dis an' oo don'?"

"Dr. Ned ordered it."

"I can' s'eep like dis."

This was why he never got visitors, Willie decided. Nobody wanted to see people crying, miserable and humiliated. Stanley came over with a tissue and wiped the moisture from his face.

"Please don't be upset." Big guy tried to think of something cheerful to distract his friend. "Tomorrow is Music Therapy, and we always have a sing-along. You'll love it."

"Jus' s'oot me now."

At 11 o'clock the overhead lights were extinguished, and everything was black, except for the illuminated emergency pull cord on the wall. The little green light on the door went out and the red one came on. It looked like an evil eye, and it seemed to be growing larger. Too many scary things happened in the dark, when there was no oil lamp or candle. Willie started to scream.

* * *

(2) _Public Enemy_, 1931, starring James Cagney


	13. Care de Loon

_Synopsis: Just like on the outside, at Wyndcliff there are good people and not so good people. If you want to get along, you got to play the game. _

* * *

The following day, after devouring a breakfast of rubbery scrambled eggs, cold toast, crispy hash browns and warm brown water (which they referred to as coffee), the boys attended their first session, Community Group, where Willie was welcomed as a new participant.

There they discussed, at length, the rules and regulations of the hospital: Profanity was discouraged; no food was permitted in bedrooms (Stanley snickered to himself); phone calls were limited to 10 minutes, and the list went on. Willie felt that, in some ways, it was like being back in prison, the way just about everything was forbidden or restricted in some way. Cooperative patients received star stickers on their charts and subsequent rewards. Difficult residents had privileges revoked, or were "processed."

"Willie," Nurse Annie addressed the new group member, "Can you give me an example of something we may not bring into Wyndcliff?"

The young man shrugged. "Sha'gun?"

"A shotgun? Well, yes, that's obvious. But what would be specifically dangerous for you as a patient?"

He nodded thoughtfully and came back with a more definite answer. "Wo'f 'ead cane."

Unable to decipher Willie's reply, the leader gave up and called on other volunteers. Willie looked on with curiosity as the list went on: Razors, metal eating utensils, belts, tools, scissors, nail clippers, shoelaces, pens, drawstrings, neck ties, scarves, spray cans, mirrors, jewelry, matches, lighters, alcohol, and any kind of glass, including picture frames. Cigarettes were locked away and distributed as a reward.

Next each patient described their goals for the day. The white-haired lady wanted to play the piano, which was fine, but the nurse suggested that, in addition, she would like if Moira would jot down on paper two happy thoughts for every sad one that came along. Bug Eyes wanted to do research on the book he was writing about the secret plans of conspiracy theorists. Stanley announced he was going to exercise for 15 minutes, write a letter to Aunt Erma and put away all his laundry. It was Willie's turn, and he wasn't sure what to say. His only desire was to get out of that booby hatch.

"I wanna go ou'side an' have a ci'arette."

"So, your goal is to work extra hard today and earn rewards."

"Yes, ma'am." _Sure, lady, I'll pee whenever you tell me to._

At which point, Willie was handed a rather daunting schedule: Doctor Appointment, Group Therapy, Speech Therapy, Lunch, Recreational Therapy, Education Group, Physical/Occupational Therapy, Visitation, Dinner, Music Therapy, Free Time, Closure Group and Bed. On different days, Music alternated with Art, Dance, Exercise and Yoga.

Visiting hour was the best time (if you had no visitors) to get a shower or a shave without waiting in line.

What happened to the part about sitting around all day to watch TV?

* * *

Dr. Gordon was the nice black guy who talked to Willie the day he woke up. He was tall, with just enough gray to look respectable, and glasses.

"How are things going? Do you feel better?"

"Yessir," the patient responded enthusiastically. If Willie was better, they might let him leave.

"I spoke to Dr. Julia. I understand you know her personally."

_Julia._ Willie remembered her. _She handed him a cardboard cup of coffee, affectionately locked her arm in his and led him down the crowded street of Christmas shoppers. Time to fetch the body parts… Julia sat him in the parlor chair and produced a medallion. Its multi-faceted surface reflected in the candlelight… "Get outta my way, old man," Willie growled, baring his fangs at the other vampire. Julia spun him around and struck him across the face with a silver crucifix, burning an X into his cheek. _

"Willie?"

The young man looked up with a start. He was in Gordon's office, sitting across from the doctor's desk.

"Yessir. Dulia. She's m' boss. Well, kinda. I's comp'icated."

"For some reason she's too busy to see you, but she and I have worked out a new course of meds. You're going to get an antidepressant and anti-anxiety, with tranquilizers only as needed. And a sleeping pill. I heard you had a rough night."

"I don' like da dark. Can I ha' a ca'ul—" he tried again, slowly forming the word. "Can-dle?"

"No, I'm afraid not," the doctor replied, "But how about nightlight, would that be okay?"

Willie nodded and smiled. That was easy. "Can I go home nen?"

"Not quite yet, but you and I and all the staff are going to work on that goal." He smiled back. "That's a promise."

"Can I call m' wife?" Doc Gordon frowned as he looked over the dossier, and the young man immediately became anxious. "I's 'por'ant. I godda t-tell 'er I'm sorry." Willie started to sniffle and his left leg bounced nervously. "An'—an' I love 'er an' p'ease b'ing me some c'othes—ones wid no d'awst'ings."

"That may not be a good idea just yet. What about contacting your mother?" He looked up the name. "Lydia Harrison?"

"Oh, no, I don' wan' 'er t' know I'm 'ere." He shook his head empathically. "She ge's dep'essed. Uh uh, no' good."

"Then we'll ask Dr. Julia—"

"No! She's a c'azy bitch, she 'ates me!" The boy trembled as tears ran down his cheeks.

Gordon observed the patient's increasing distress. "It's alright, Willie…"

"Oo don' un'ers'and. She tie me up an' lock da door, gimme d'ugs an' don' feed me. She hy'notizes people to ge' ever'thin' she wan's. She makes me s'eal b'ood and dea' bodies."

With interest, Doc Gordon made notes of this information in his file as Willie became more apprehensive. "I wan' _Maggie_." He yanked at his tent-like T-shirt. "Why can' I have clo'es like udder people? Wha' I do w'ong?" The tears came faster now as he gripped the desk, attempting to gouge his fingers along its smooth wooden surface. "Couldn' oo be my doc'or ins'ead? Tell Doc Ned I can' s'eep wid da thin' on. It scares me. I ge' nigh'mares. Oo don' know wha' can happen t' oo in da dark…"

Willie brutally slammed his fist several times on the desktop in an effort to regain control of his emotions, but he knew that in a moment he would lose it completely or zone out. The patient sprung from his chair and crouched in the nearest corner, his safe spot, covering his head.

"Sanc'uary," he whispered over and over, shaking uncontrollably.

Gordon grabbed the phone, made a quick call and, in a moment, was at the boy's side, holding him.

"Can oo make me bedder?"

"We'll do it together. It sounds like something traumatic happened to you in the past. We can try to help you cope with that."

"I'm scared. Dulia tol' me if I didn' do wha she wan'ed, I be punis'ed an' sen' here in a s'aight-dacket. An' Bar'bas let 'er; he don' care. He 'its me and d'inks my b'ood an' rip my shirt. Loo', see da scar?" Willie pointed to his cheek, which was unmarked by anything except two days worth of facial hair growth.

"You're safe now. No one here will hurt you."

"I wan' Nurse Dessie."

"Jessica's on her way with a pill, one of those _as needed_ medications. Then you're going to take a nap."

* * *

Willie's next session was with the speech pathologist. Still drowsy from the knockout drug, he shuffled into the therapy room and slumped into a chair.

"Hello!" The thin young man behind the desk smiled brightly. "So, your real name is Willie Loomis. Do you …know me?" The patient shook his head. "Eugene Greenwalt?"

"'Sorry, wad I here b'fore? I forge' a lo' a' 'duff."

"That's okay. You're going through a rough patch. Meanwhile, you and I are going to get you talking again."

"Oday."

"It's a very simple process." Gene pointed to the chart behind him. "Just like going up steps, one at a time. In the first step, I'll make a single sound, _Ahh_, you watch how I do it and repeat it. When you can do it five times in a row, we move on to another sound. Soon you'll be putting sounds together to form syllables, then piecing them together. _CAaa_ plus _T _equals CAT. _Sss-Nnn_ plus _AP_ equals SNAP. _Sss-T-ahh-P_. STOP. Get it? Does that sound like fun?"

"Sore."

"Actually, it can get pretty tedious. We'll spend a lot of time going over the same old things, but you stick with me, work hard, and I will load up your chart with meaningless stars." He flashed a good-humored grin. "Before you know it you'll be saying whole words and stringing them together to have conversations."

"Soun's dood."

Gene looked into the patient's eyes. "Do you remember me at all from the hospital, when you came to visit, or the Vampire Club…?" the therapist suggested.

_Willie heard music in his head. Mozart—Something in C Minor—on an organ—no, harpsichord, in a dimly lit ballroom…_

"Dere's somet'in' in your b'ood, da docs won' know, dey'll call it a disease…"

"That's right. That's what you said to me."

Willie's mind raced ahead to a vision of a zombie in a wheelchair who, at the sight of him, abruptly began to scream and flail.

"S'uddup! S'uddup!" Willie yelled at the therapist, gripping the arms rests of his chair. "Oo godda say whad dey wanna hear, so dey'll t'ink you're bedder."

"Sure, sure, never mind." Gene briskly returned to his paperwork, suddenly aware they were approaching a situation he might not be equipped to handle. "I see from your chart, you've been on a heavy course of medication. That, combined with electro-convulsive therapy, can damage short-term memory and speech function. Most of that should return in time." He flashed his friendly smile and rubbed his hands together. "So, let's get to work."

* * *

After lunch was the period called Recreational Therapy, which was another word for recess. Often there was an organized activity, such as Bingo or a movie with popcorn or (often with disastrous results) a game of Trivial Pursuit. But you could also read in the library, play cards or do a jigsaw puzzle in the Day Room where soothing music played on the loudspeaker. Some patients were even permitted to stroll around the garden; of course Willie was not included in that group. He settled down in the TV room and zoned out after a few minutes. His afternoon meds were starting to kick in, and the day, although only half over, was proving a mental overload to the young man.

* * *

One evening, alongside the monitor nurse, Willie watched wistfully through a large plate window into the reception area where Stanley sat in quiet conference with his mother. Other patients gathered in little groups with loved ones in the same room. A few were arguing or looked distraught, but the majority seemed caring and comforting to their unfortunate relation.

Two attendants approached from behind. Vinnie took one arm and Mitch took the other as they escorted the patient away down the hall.

"Wassup? I's not poddy time."

"It's wash day for you, Psycho. And now is a good time, since you have no visitors today."

They took Willie into the shower and proceeded to pull off his clothes and exit. Steve the orderly stood in the doorless shower stall with soap and towel.

"Wait! Where're ya takin' my 'tuff? Dat's all I got!"

"Calm down, your things need to be washed, they smell bad. You can wear this when you're done." Steve pointed to a hospital gown hanging by a peg on a nearby wall.

The patient looked mistrustful. "Back off, I can dower by mydelf."

"Oh, I know, you're a big boy now, but you still need a monitor. Those're the rules, you know that." He turned on the water and adjusted the temperature.

"Over dere." Willie pointed to the opposite corner while holding up his towel. Steve shrugged and sauntered across the tiled floor.

"I don't know why we're not pals anymore. I'm sorry they changed your meds."

At his old apartment or at Collinwood, Willie liked to linger in a hot shower, savoring the steamy warmth, but not now with this leering audience. He rushed through the necessary procedure, tied the towel around his waist and layered the hospital gown on top. Steve snapped the terrycloth wrap away.

"Towel stays here. That doesn't belong to you. And the gown goes on backward."

"But…I can' go out like dat," Willie whined, clutching the garment closed behind him. "Where's my clo'es?"

"I told you, in the laundry."

"Can I wai' in my room till dere ready? I know, I know, i's 'gainst da rules, bu' p'ease?"

"Well, just for you, Psycho." The orderly grinned. "'Cause you're my pal."

Steve escorted his charge to the men's dormitory and slid his ID badge to open the door. Willie scrambled in and sat, crunched up in the corner of his bed. The aide closed the door behind them and blocked it with the desk chair.

_Willie remembered being in another place: A hallway with gray walls and bars on the window. He fed quarter and quarter into the vending machine, filling his pillow case with soda cans. Then he swung the sack over his shoulder and charged at a fellow inmate who had harassed him, smashing the makeshift weapon into his head. Willie went to the Hole for that one, but it was worth it. Nobody fucked with him again after that. _

"I liked you better when you were a zombie," Steve remarked as he approached the bed. "You did lots of favors for your buddy, and I did lots of favors for you. You don't remember, do you?"

"No, and I don' be'ieve you, neidder."

"You think you're so smart now. If you were smart, you would try better to get along with people who can do things for you. You want some clothes? Just ask."

"Not f'om you, asshole." The patient backed away until he reached the wall.

"Always the tough guy," the aide grinned.

"I-I will slit your t'roat and serve da b'ood to my master for b'ekfast. Den I make T'anksgivin' stuffin' wit' yer gizzards and hang yer 'ead on the fron' door, as a warnin' to udder bad ord'lies."

Steve leaned over the bed. "That sounded like a threat, and I could report you for that. Then you would be processed. In fact, I would see to it personally."

Willie's hand slithered up the wall behind him and he yanked the emergency cord, sounding an alarm at the head station. Cursing, Steve jumped back and flung the barricade chair out of the way just as a nurse and another aide slammed through the door. The patient burst into melodramatic tears, rocking back and forth on the verge of hysteria.

"What's going on in here?" the nurse demanded. "Steven, why is there a patient in his room at this time of day—and _why _was his door closed?"

"Nurse Karen, help me!" Willie cried. "Dey took all my c'othes an' I'm havin' a 'xiety attack!"

Karen rushed to the bed and and sat, hugging the trembling boy. She didn't see Leroi's questioning, mistrustful look to Steve, who shrugged dismissively. "Well, don't just stand there useless, both of you," she snapped at the attendants. "Get this patient something to wear."

With moist and melancholy eyes, the young man glanced up at Steve, who glared back over his shoulder as he left the room. Yes, Wyndcliff was a lot like prison. You could get away with a lot, without giving away a thing, if you knew how the play the game.

Willie cuddled closer to his caregiver until his shaking subsided.


	14. Psycho and Stan's Excellent Adventure

Willie was alone, still waiting in his room when Stanley slumped in and plopped on his bed. Willie blinked, coming out of a stupor; he wiped away a suggestion of drool from his mouth.

"S'an?" No answer. "Hey, S'an da man, wassa ma'er?" The big guy emitted a cry of anguish as snot burst from his nose. "Was' wrong?"

"Cake!" Stanley cried. "There's caaaake and they won't give me any! They hate me!" The young man began to beat his fists into his thighs.

"Oh, f'crissake, knock i' off." Willie pulled at his arms but the other elbowed him away and continued to punch himself. "S'op—s'op! I'll ge' ya some duckin' cake." The fat man looked up through red rimmed eyes.

"Oh, really," he retorted bitterly. "And how will you do that?"

"I dunno…I-I can' go a'ywhere like dis—wait. Gimme one a' yer shir's." He pulled a T shirt from Stanley's drawer and donned over the hospital gown. Like the others, it hung to his knees. "S'ay dere. I be wight back."

Willie sprinted barefoot down the hall to the head station where the nurses and aides were enjoying squares of sheet cake on paper plates. It was a good time to sneak in a little party as the functional patients were in their sessions; only the zombies remained, seated in a circle, drooling at each other.

He banged on the desk. "Hey, I godda 'mergency here. S'anley nee's cake."

The caregiver gave him a look over the glasses on the bridge of her nose. "No, he doesn't. This is a birthday celebration for Nurse Janet, not patients." She turned to the other staff. "Did you see him bolt out of Annie's session? That boy can smell sugar at 400 yards." The group chuckled in agreement.

"Den give 'im a pill or somet'in'. He's bawlin'."

"That's not on his chart."

"But—"

"Is he in danger? Is he endangering you?"

"Uh, no' 'xactly, but—"

"Then let him cry it out. Stanley can't always get what he wants."

She turned from the young man back to her companions as Willie's eyes scanned the area. He plucked a paper clip from the desk and palmed it. Then the patient strolled back to his room.

_But if you try sometimes, you just might find you get what you need. _

"Where's my cake?"

"Shuddup, dere's plen'y lef'." Willie produced the paper clip and proceeded to unbend it. "Da prob'em is ya don' have an order for cake on yer char'. So we fix dat. Gimme pencil."

Stanley retrieved a writing utensil from his desk drawer as his roommate picked the lock of the shallow metal box hinged to the foot of his bed.

"I'm not so sure about this." The big guy looked apprehensive. "Are you sure it's going to work?"

"Trus' me, I'm good a' dis." Willie wrote, carefully copying the handwriting already there, in the medication section of the file.

_One large slice of cake to be given three times a day. _

"And ice cream," Stanley suggested.

_And ice cream_, the younger man added.

"There." Willie smiled, slamming the metal file shut. He continued to pry open his own file and perused the chart, carefully writing at the bottom of the instruction sheet."

_Give this pashent everything he wants. Order 7 nice clothes and 1 leather jacket. FIRE STEVE._

Their problems were solved. _Holy brilliant brainbusters._

"What on earth is going on in here?" Nurse Sharon stood in the doorway, hands on hips. The two young men sat on the edges of their perspective beds with large, round eyes, hands folded. "Did you two tamper with your charts?"

"Yes, ma'am." Willie answered solemnly, as if he anticipated the question.

"I'm not going to ask why, I'm going to ask how."

"It was dat aide, S'eve, he's in here an' lef' 'em unlocked. I t'ink he was drunk. I'm sorry we w'ote in dem, ma'am, bu' we can' help it 'cause we're crazy."

"I see. And why aren't you two ready for bed?"

Willie rose and approached the nurse. "I hadda sit up f'minute. I'm dizzy, t'ink I gonna…" He collapsed into Sharon's arms, bringing the nurse down on top of him. She called for assistance on her walkie, and as soon as the nausea passed, the boys were tucked in for the night and lights were extinguished.

"Stan'ey?"

"I still didn't get any cake."

"Dat's 'cause we ain' done yet. Ge' me oudda dis s'upid t'ing." Stanley obeyed, nervously unstrapping the restraints. "S'it, I wish we had a flas'ligh'."

"Will this do?" The roommate held up a contraband clip-on light with which to read in bed.

"Perfec'," Willie produced Nurse Sharon's ID badge from the sleeve of his straightjacket. "We gonna raid da kitchen."

"Oh my god, no! We'll get in trouble. There's guards and security cameras."

"I got dis all figgered; I didn' get trained by Jas' M'Guire for nuddin'." He paused to ponder the significance of that name for a moment, then shook his head to clear disturbing thoughts. "Da shif' changes a' 'leven 'c'ock. Af'er while, desk guard will be 'sleep, an' we make our move. You'll haveta crawl t' keep under da cam'ra eye. Can you do dat?"

Stanley was caught up in the moment. "Yes, yes, yes!"

"Shhh!"

* * *

The night attendant on his rounds hesitated at the sight of a faint light emanating from the kitchen. With trepidation, he reached for the walkie talkie and silently slid his ID card in the lock. The guard peeked into the cavernous room where his powerful flashlight soon pinpointed the crumb-covered duo sitting on the floor surrounded by a demolished sheet cake, lit by the open refrigerator door.

"Hold it right there, don't move!" The watchperson warily approached. "Who's there and what are you doing?"

Stanley belched.

"Havin' our cake t'erapy," the other replied. "Don' worry, i's on our charts."

* * *

The following day, the importance of security and adherence to the rules were the topics of every goddam session. All privileges for the two were revoked and the scofflaws got to sit out free time sitting in separate corners. Recreation session was spent in private conference with Dr. Ned, the demon group therapist.

"We're going to talk about safety. Do you two understand the repercussions of what you did?" Stanley rolled his eyes and Willie slid down in the molded plastic chair. "This is serious!" Ned barked, his temper already challenged. "I've yet to hear so much as an apology from either one of you."

Stanley hunched his shoulders timidly. Shifting uncomfortably, the big guy accidently farted, which caused Willie to slide the rest of the way to the floor with peals of unrestrained laughter. His roommate giggled in tandem as the doctor pulled the young patient back into his seat.

"You had better cooperate with me, mister, or you will find that I am your worst nightmare."

"I doubt dat," the young man muttered. As if this loser had any notion of Willie's worst nightmares.

Dr. Ned returned to his seat. "Well, are you sorry?"

"No," Willie retorted. "It was fun. If you gave people cake when dey need it, dey wouldn' have 'a sneak 'round an' be_ unsafe_. You're all on some duckin' power t'ip an' we're puppets ya t'ink ya can p'ay wit'."

"It was fun." Stan, feeling suddenly brave, was inspired to agree.

Dr. Ned did not look up from the note he was writing. "Stanley, you would be wise to keep quiet right now. I don't blame you completely because you're impressionable and have been influenced by this deviant." The therapist returned his attention to Willie with a sneer. "Don't think I've forgotten that you tried to stab me, you little psychopath. I warned Gordon back then you should be in D Ward. That's where they put the other dangerous criminals, in restraints day and night, in cages."

Willie made a fake lunge at the doctor, but pulled back, grinning when the man jumped out of his chair.

"Da p'oblem wid psychos is ya hurt der feelin's, den dey stab ya wid da pen you're holdin'."

The two locked eyes. "Stanley," said Dr. Ned, "Go sit on the steps."

"But—" Tears immediately sprung to the big man's eyes.

"Just do it!" The doctor then spoke into his shoulder walkie. "This is Dr. Ned. Mr. Loomis is ready for his ECT appointment. He's waiting in my office."

"Ain' ya 'fraid t' be 'lone wid me?" Willie goaded the therapist.

"Not really. It's hard to take someone seriously who talks like five-year-old Elmer Fudd."

A minute later Vinnie showed up to escort Willie to the restroom. The patient was confused, as it was not his scheduled time. When they emerged from the toilet, Mitch and Nurse Annie were waiting with a gurney.

"Wassat?" The young man asked cautiously as the two orderlies lifted him onto the transportation and strapped him down. Annie prepared an injection. "Hey, whadda ya doin'?" Willie started to shake. "N-no, don' gimme needle, I didn' do nuddin', I swear, I was jus' kiddin'!"

"It's just a sedative." The nurse rubbed his arm. "I want you to count backwards from 100."

"No, p'ease don' gimme dat, I'm sorry, I won' do it 'gain." Mitch and Vinnie wheeled the gurney to the elevator, which would convey them to the basement ECT therapy room. "Where ya takin' me? I was jus' talkin', I didn' do nuddin' wrong!" He pulled violently against his restraints.

"Calm down, Psycho, you're not being punished; it's on your schedule. This is a treatment to help you get better. Count with me: 100, 99, 98..."

Willie whimpered as the attendant dabbed his temples with conductive jelly, placed the brace on his head and inserted a rubber guard into his mouth. If this wasn't his worst nightmare, it had just earned a spot on the list of top five.

* * *

Willie woke up in the infirmary strapped into a bed. He felt numb, disoriented and nauseated. The door was ajar and florescent ceiling lights exacerbated a pounding headache. For several hours, he lay there, unable to remember anything at all.

An angel wearing scrubs came into the room, took his vital signs and mopped his sweaty face. Willie thought about kissing her as she leaned with a Styrofoam cup of water and put the bendy straw in his mouth.

"You did very well," the angel said, smiling. "Go back to sleep now and I'll check in on you again in a little while."

"Don' go, I'll be quiet."

"I'll come back after I finish my other rounds."

"Don' leave me 'lone 'gain. I'm sorry, Maggie, I'm so sorry…"

"Shhh, everything's fine." She kissed his forehead. "Close your eyes."

_Maggie snuggled up to him on the cheap mattress. Willie wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in the sweet, floral fragrance of her hair. Together, they drifted off to sleep. _


	15. Reaching Out

_Holy ballbusters._ Time for the stupidest, worst, most god-awful, miserable session of the day: Group Therapy with the irrepressible Dr. Ned. He sat smugly in the midst of the little circle, legs crossed, holding his notepad and twirling his pen. A platinum blonde ventriloquist dummy in a low-cut blue dress sat in the chair beside him.

"Today we're going to get to know each other better," the therapist smiled and went on to explain that each patient would introduce themselves, explain why they were at Wyndcliff and what they hoped to achieve. He pointed to the first victim.

"Hello, I'm Stanley," the fat man began hesitantly. "I'm 33 and have been here for two years. Almost two years. Actually it'll be 23 months next week on the 14th. I grew up over in Portland. My mother took me out of public school when I was nine because of all the bullies, so I went to a private prep instead, then Bates College and dental school. Now I'm a pediatric dentist...well, used to be, I was asked to leave my group practice because the patients made me cry, so I'm—I'm nothing now."

"How did you come to be here, Stanley?"

"I was diagnosed with depression, borderline personality disorder, mild obsessive-compulsive tendencies and some social anxiety disorders. Before coming here I lived with my mother and Aunt Erma and we have three cats…I didn't leave my house for over a year. Actually, it was 14 months."

"What are their names?" Moira interrupted. "Your kitties. What do you call them?"

"Felix, CeeCee and Mr. Jingles."

"What do you want to do here?" Ned prodded the patient.

"To obey the rules, be helpful to staff and a positive influence to fellow patients," Stan quoted from the handbook. "Is that enough?"

"More than enough, it's my turn. I'm Angela," the young woman spoke up. She was beautiful even with tangled hair and no makeup. "I'm 24, and been a guest in your lovely establishment for five months. Mother is a socialite and daddy is a Republican Senator. I won't say which state," she winked. "I was tossed out of Vassar for conduct unbecoming. So, I found my true calling and became a full-time high-end call girl and part-time junkie. One night I was strung out and freaked on this john who slapped me. I knocked him out, sliced off his dick and put it down the garbage disposal," she laughed. "What a mess!"

"Demon!" cried Roberta. "You're going to hell! The unrighteous will not inherit the kingdom of God! Neither the sexually immoral, nor adulterers—"

"Shut up, it's not your turn, Jesus freak!" Angela snapped then smirked at the group. "Before I was so rudely interrupted—my diagnosis is sexually promiscuous sociopath and my goal is to cooperate with Dr. Ned and do _everything_ I can for him. By the way, I'm also a pathological liar, so none of what I just said is true. Or maybe I'm lying now and it's all true."

The therapist nodded for the next person to begin.

"_Now_ it is my turn," the little lady remarked with a scowl. "My name is Roberta. I'm 45 years old and was sent here by Our Lord to save your wretched souls."

"And also for burning down your house. Remember? Dr. Ned suggested.

"That was a purification ritual for my family."

"Three of them died."

"They didn't pass," she responded matter-of-factly. "My goal is to root out the devil and drive him from your diseased minds," she stated, shooting a look at Psycho.

"Me? Uh, my name is Willie and I'm an alcoholic. Oops, wrong group." The others chuckled.

"Your smart aleck remarks have no place here. Watch yourself," Ned snapped.

"Yessir. Lessee, I'm 26—" the doctor stifled a chuckle.

"Try again," he mocked the young man. "What year is this?"

Willie bit his lip in confusion. He tried to remember when he last recalled a year. He was born in 1956. 1976 was the Bicentennial. The crown jewels were on display. He got paroled in '81…

"'82—no." Ned pointed over his shoulder to a calendar on the wall. "S'it, 1984. Really?" The others snickered. "Dat's jus' crazy."

"If you sincerely want to get better, you will stop trying to make a joke out of everything and make an effort to let us help you."

"But, I…" Willie hadn't intended to be funny. "Uh, okay." The patient searched his brain, trying to piece together remnants of his fuzzy past. "I'm no' f'om 'round here. G'ew up in Brook'yn, bu' no' fer long. I dumped school af'er nine grade an' became a hustler, only no' classy like Angela." The young woman licked her lips in his direction. "My part'er an' me, we t'aveled all over; been t' ev'ry big city an' sailed 'round da worl'. Dere were pirates an' gian' killer spiders in Af'ica, an' gangsters in Pan'ma, an' in Hong Kong we…we…"

"Swam with mermaids? If you're finished wasting our time, maybe you could try to stick to the real world, and tell the truth for a change."

"Sorry, I...okay." Willie was becoming confused and frustrated. "I was in p'ison fo' while, down sout'."

"That I can believe," Dr. Ned smirked. "How did you end up at Wyndcliff?"

"I wen' bat-shit crazy. I-I'm no' 'llowed talk 'bout it."

"It's important that you talk about it; everything you say here is confidential."

"Well…okay." Willie took a breath. "I go' 'tacked by vampire an' hadda do ev'yt'ing he said. He killed Jason an' made me bury 'im in da basemen'. Later on, I was a vampire too, bu' no' an'more, don' worry. Hadda give all dat up t' ge' married. Dat udder vampire married a witch doc'or and now dey makin' a monster outta spare parts t' d'ink da b'ood. I tol' 'em it was a bad idea bu' dey don' listen t' me."

The doctor was right, Willie concluded, it was helpful to say those things aloud. He was remembering things he hadn't thought about for quite a while. One of them was that he was bound never to reveal his master's secret, but this was therapy, which was kind of sacred, like Confession. Besides, he didn't name names.

Dr. Ned looked increasingly irritated as the others stared in awe. "No one is interested in your little fantasies."

"I am, go on!" exclaimed Bug Eyes.

"You're agitating the other patients. This is your last warning," the therapist snapped. "You have no idea why you're here, do you?"

"I know I ha' bad d'eams all da time. Maggie tol' me t' go see da doctor…S'it, she was…she had a baby." He hugged his knees and suddenly didn't feel like talking anymore.

"I remember Ms. Evans; she was also a patient of mine. Lovely young lady. It's hard to imagine her married to you." Willie looked up and noticed Dr. Ned standing behind Angela, rubbing her shoulders in an affectionate way. Did he do that to Maggie? Did that arrogant prick touch his girl while she was doped up? Anger built up inside him as he slowly stood with gritted teeth and the two men glared at each other. "Sit down or you'll be sorry!" Willie reluctantly returned to his seat and watched his left leg bounce.

"Now allow me to enlighten you," the therapist resumed with a deliberate tone. "Those _stories _you just told us are psychotic delusions." He referred to his notes. "Now, listen carefully, Willie Loomis: you are a paranoid schizophrenic. You hear voices and talk to invisible Irishmen and little girls. You held your pregnant wife captive while strung out on stolen prescription drugs and then attempted suicide by slicing up both arms."

"I did?" Actually, that did sound kind of crazy. "Sorry."

"Look at yourself, covered with scars."

"Yeah, let's see!" Bug Eyes interrupted, and Willie obliged. "Wow, it's like designs."

"I was goo' with detail work. Woodcarvin', 'tuff like dat."

"Hey, I got track lines…" Angela started to pull up her sleeve.

"Jesus rebuked the demon, it came out of him, and the boy was healed instantly!" Roberta chimed in.

"He talks too much; when is it my turn?" Moira, the old lady, started to cry. "I want to hold the dummy!"

"Which one?" Willie laughed.

"Quiet down, all of you!" Ned railed, his face red. He turned on Willie. "I'm sick of your attention-seeking behavior .You are a constant disruption in this group!"

"An' you're an ass'ole, Willie looked away, quietly pouting. "Why'd ya tell ev'yone all dose bad t'ings 'bout me?"

"Because this is _group therapy_, you idiot! Go sit on the steps!"

"You sit on da s'eps, you're da one yellin', no' me." Ned reached for his walkie. "Alrigh', alrigh', I'm goin'." He patted Stanley's shoulder on the way out. "Catch up wid ya later. I'm gettin' processed."

* * *

There were a number of ways at Wyndcliff to deal with patients who broke rules or got out of hand. They were requested to sit in a corner or on the steps, away from the others, to _process_ their thoughts until they calmed down. In more severe cases, if presented with a potentially dangerous situation, a containment crew of aides was called in, and the patient was restrained face-down on the floor until the violence subsided. If that proved insufficient, the attendant would call for a medical intervention and the client got booty-juiced with a fast-acting sedative injection. They were then escorted to ITA (Isolation Therapy Area), another name for the padded room, to recover.

Roberta, a tiny woman with seemingly enormous strength, was frequently subject to these treatments because of her insistence on performing exorcisms of other patients by beating the demons out of them.

Sitting on the steps was boring, and now Willie wouldn't get to hear the rest of the stories. He didn't care about Moira. _She's depressed. Yeah, we get it._ And she preferred to let the ventriloquist dummy talk for her. But Bug Eyes, he probably had enticing tales to tell. Oh well, the upside was Willie didn't have to listen to Head Shrink Ned any longer. Leroi, the big black attendant, wandered by and sat next to the young man.

"Got booted from session again, huh?" The aide gave him a sympathetic smile.

"Hey, man, I'm processin'."

"Still more fun than Dr. Ned's class, am I right?"

The two shared a laugh and Willie playfully punched his arm.

"Oh, s'it, sorry, not 'spossed to do dat."

"Little man, you can't hurt me," Leroi slapped his back, sending his companion toppling off the second lowest step. "I used to be a linebacker, till my knee gave out." He handed Willie a hard candy from his pocket.

"T'anks," the patient said, gratefully unwrapping the sweet. "My mout' always dry."

"From all those meds. I always carry around a bunch if you need one."

"Don' tell S'anley; he'll clean you out."

Leroi laughed again, a rich bass that echoed in the stairwell, and went back to work.

* * *

The minutes ticked by. Willie peered through the rungs of the banister and sucked on his butterscotch. He wondered what Maggie was doing at that moment. He concentrated on remembering the details of her face. Maybe she was at the diner, serving up coffee and pie with her big friendly smile. She was always nice to customers, even people like Willie. He used to get breakfast there when he stopped by to pick up a newspaper for Barnabas.

There were some disturbing, even frightening gaps in his memory, so it was possible he did fabricate some of those stories, but certain facts were indisputable: Once upon a time he and Maggie were happy. They made love on a mattress in an empty apartment with a cheap radio and a noisy radiator. Willie had done something terrible to fuck it up and, whatever it was, he was sorry. He still loved her, and always would until the day he died, and then his ghost would love her. Maybe if she only knew how sorry he was, everything could be the way it was before. _Get help_, she said, and he did; that's why he was here.

Down the hall Willie observed a line of loonies. Feeling sufficiently _processed_, the young man skipped off and snuck in the queue with other patients who wished to make personal telephone calls. After dialing several incorrect combinations of digits, he reached the Evans' residence, praying that his wife would answer and not the grumpy old man.

"Hello? Hello?"

It was Maggie. Willie smiled at the sound of her voice, but before he could speak, an operator interrupted.

"A psychiatric patient from Wyndcliff Sanitarium is attempting to contact you. Do you wish to accept the call?"

"No, thank you—"

"Maggie, p'ease! Don' han' up!" He bit his hand to keep from crying. "T-t-talk t' me…p'ease."

"Alright," she sighed. The operator remained on the line to monitor the call. "Willie, I told you never to contact me."

"I jus' wan'ed t' tell ya, I'm so s-s-sorry…" His voice was starting to crack. "P'ease d-don' ha'e me."

"You need to calm down. I don't hate you."

"Ya 'til mad a' me?"

"What's the matter with your voice?"

"I forgo' how t' talk, but it's geddin' bedder." He deliberately slowed his speech to pronounce the words more accurately. "I'm much b-bedder now; I'm no' c'azy no more. Dey gonna le' me come home soon." His wife did not respond. "M-Maggie? I was t'inkin', maybe ya could visit sometime, huh? An' b'ing my c'othes?"

"I returned all your things to Mr. Collins at the Old House. You should ask Dr. Hoffman to bring what you need."

"She don' come; nobo'y comes." Tears started down his cheeks. "I's lon'y here; I wis' I coul' see ya—jus' fer a minute. Y-ya know I w-wouldn' hurt ya."

"I…can't. No—" Her voice starting to crack as well. "Are they taking good care of you?"

"Oday, I guess. Dey say I'm psycho and t'ied to stab one a' da docs, but I don' 'member dat. I dink he made dat up 'cause he don' like me." There was a long silence on the other end. "Maggie? You 'till dere?"

"I have to go now. Goodbye, Willie."

The young man wanted to say he loved her, but Maggie had already hung up. When he attempted to call again the following week, the operator told him that number had requested to be blocked.

Nevertheless, Willie lived in hope that his wife, upon reflection, would reconsider her feelings, so he frequently patronized the facility's barbershop, where he could get a shave, nails trimmed or, every once in a great while, a haircut.

"Make me all pretty," he would always say, "'case m' wife come visi' t'day."

* * *

Willie's name was called over the loudspeaker. He trudged over to the nurse's station.

"I didn' do it."

"Nothing's wrong," Nurse Jessie smiled, handing him a pass. "You have a visitor. Go on into the reception area."

Willie ripped off his slippers to keep from tripping and bolted into the front room, hardly able to catch his breath. He thrust his chit at Nurse Karen, the monitor, and quickly scanned the room, searching for Maggie. The reception area only housed other patients, chatting and hugging their relatives—and a dark-haired young man in a trench coat, smiling in the patient's direction.

_Holy Casablankets_, Humphrey Bogart just waved to him. Crap, he was delusional after all.

"William Loomis?" The mysterious man approached, holding out his hand to shake. "How do you do, I'm Tony Peterson."

Mr. Peterson opened his briefcase after sitting with Willie on upholstered chairs near an end table.

"I'm an attorney hired to represent your wife, Mary Margaret Evans." The patient was confused as Tony continued in a professional, if slightly rushed, voice. "Because you have been declared mentally incompetent, Ms. Evans is allowed by law to file divorce proceedings without your consent after a period of two years." The stranger looked uneasy at being the bearer of such news.

Willie bit his lower lip. She still hated him, he knew it, even after he said he was sorry and begged her like a goddam dog to forgive him.

"We're still short of that time frame, but my client is seeking to file now—if you would be willing to sign the papers. She's hoping for an amicable separation."

Willie clutched his bedroom slippers and said nothing, his brow furrowed. He looked up, appraising the novice practitioner. Handsome fellow. Maybe the guy wanted Maggie to be single so he could date her.

"It would be the right thing to do, Mr. Loomis. Maggie wants to get on with her life."

_Because what would make a woman more fucking miserable than being married to you, Mr. Loonis?_

"Sure, wha' da hell," Willie grabbed the paper and pen. "We all go' bedder things to do, right?" He scribbled his signature and handed back the documents. "Hey, Bogie, can I have one a' dem smokes?"

"Sure thing." Tony smiled as he held out the pack from which Willie plucked a cigarette and stuck it behind his ear. "It was a pleasure to meet you."

"Here's lookin' at you, kid." He winked at the lawyer while replacing his slippers. "I think Nurse Karen's lookin' a' ya too."

"Beg pardon?"

"Room monitor, da hot one b'hind dat big window. Don' f'get to check out wid her b'fore ya leave."

"I didn't know. Is that procedure?"

But the patient just grinned and was on his way, playfully pinching Nurse Karen's cheek as he passed. She would distract that legal eagle from hitting on his wife. His ex-wife. The one with who got on with her life.

Willie left the reception area and headed for the common room where he saw Moira sitting with her friend at the checkers table. He approached the couple.

"Dear, can I borrow yer chair for a momen'? Jus' s'and up."

He helped the woman to her feet, collapsed the metal folding chair and carried it nonchalantly to the window. Lifting it high in the air, Willie proceeded to slam the thing repeatedly into the thick metal mesh which barred the window. The thunderous clanging resounded through the room as other patients held their hands to ears, or screamed, or did nothing. Bug Eyes, of course, cheerleaded any form of anarchy. Willie was disarmed, put down and had a medical intervention followed by some alone time.


	16. Making the Grade

Willie's speech therapy with that nice Mr. Gene continued to improve as did his physical and occupational therapy. In PT, he practiced balance and coordination, standing on one foot, playing catch with a giant balloon and putting pegs in holes with his therapists Betty Jo and Mike. Of course, he could've played hop scotch around the room if he wasn't always tripping over his damn clothes.

OT had nothing to do with having an occupation. They worked on teaching patients to perform everyday tasks, like dressing, eating and bathing. The young man's motor skills had recovered nicely and that session was taken off his roster.

"When you graduate from OT, that means you get a job," the therapist informed him. "Everyone here has a chore to do, in addition to making your bed and keeping your room tidy."

"Stan makes my bed."

"You should be doing it for yourself. So, Willie, what kind of job you like to do?"

The young man thought about this. What was he good at? He used to drive his truck a lot. He used to work in a restaurant. He used to fix things.

"I was a car-pender, and did plumbin'. Sanded furn'ture and painted trim. Cut wood with a chainsaw."

"Let's think of something else."

"Whas wrong with dat?"

"Nothing. But patients are not allowed to handle tools."

Willie sighed. "I guess I can wash dishes." That wasn't the assignment he wished to receive.

"No. There are knives in the kitchen."

"Well, for crissake—" He was not going to end up scrubbing toilets. He was tired of cleaning up after everybody else's shit. Then his eyes lit up as he came upon the perfect solution. "The lib'ary. I wanna work in da lib'ary."

"I'm afraid you have to have a high school diploma to do that."

"Whadda ya talkin' 'bout? I got a BS in Philos'phy from Cordell, where I studied Karma, and 'nother in 'Lizabethan lit'rature. She was a queen in England. I did a big project on _Hamlet_. You know, da guy with da skull. He was crazy, like me."

"I'm having a little trouble believing that—"

"_Dere are more things in heaven an' earth, Miss Tina, den are dreamt of in your philos'phy. Though dis be madness, yet dere is method in it_."

The therapist looked at Willie with curiosity, but the young man stood abruptly.

"Never mind, f'get it. Just gimme a mop and a scrub brush. What's da point of tryin' t' better yourself when dat's all anyone ever thinks you're good for?" He punched the wall in frustration.

"Please, Willie, don't be upset. I'm sure there's something…" Miss Tina nervously shuffled through her papers as the young man paused in the doorway.

"_I could be bounded in a nutshell, and count myself a king of infinite space, were it not dat I have bad dreams."_

"It so happens we have an opening in the library."

* * *

Education Therapy was boring. Boring. Boring. Nurse Annie lectured the group on the importance of taking one's medication and not sharing. Depending on his mood, Willie swallowed his meds or palmed them for Stanley to hide in his drawer. It was amazing that, despite frequent room searches and head counts, no one ever discovered the stationery box of hidden pills, or the paper clips Willie stashed in the stuffing of his mattress, or Stanley's nightlight in his robe pocket. Occasionally they would clean out the big guy's snack supply, but each time it was swiftly replenished.

The group also discussed which medication each patient took, its purpose and side effects. This held no interest for Willie, so he zoned out until someone nudged his shoulder.

"Huh? Sorry. Dat's one a' my side 'ffects."

* * *

This was ridiculous; Willie had to get some real clothes. If he was her patient, why didn't Dr. Julia ever come to see how he was doing? Was she just going to dump him in this snake pit and leave him there forever?

Willie jumped in the loony queue to use the telephone. The Old House had a phone, but he couldn't remember the number, and the operator said it was unlisted. He was put through to Collinwood instead, where David accepted the call.

"Hi, uh, my name is Willie Loomis. I used t' work for—"

"Hey, man! It's Dave." The boy's voice sounded somewhat deeper than before. "How's it going? I heard you went to Wyndcliff. What's it like, a rest home? Do you sit around all day working on your tan?"

"No, it sucks. I'm wearin' a dead guy's shirt and dere's a fat dude who holds my hand. Listen, could ya do me a favor? Do ya ever see Dr. Julia, I mean—oh shit, wasser name?"

"Hoffman. Sure, I see her every day at meal time. And she doesn't even live here anymore—just shows up to eat. It's funny, because Cousin Barnabas hardly ever comes to dinner."

"Would ya ask her t' bring my clothes an' stuff? The duffle bag is in my room a' da Ol' House. Anyway, I hope it is." He felt a wave of anxiety. "Unless they threw it away. Do ya think they would do dat?"

"Of course not. Would you mind if I came with her to visit you?"

Willie smiled broadly. "Nah, I mean, yeah; sure. I'd like that a lot."

* * *

As long as he kept his smart-ass remarks to himself in Dr. Ned's class, Willie could earn enough points to go outside. The recreation yard was an unadorned patio surrounded by tall cement walls. There was one picnic bench and an ashtray. Stanley was there every afternoon.

"Stan, da man," Willie joined him. "Gimme smoke?"

"I'm always giving you smokes." He reluctantly tossed over the pack.

"That's 'cause I'm yer friend."

"No, you're not. I overheard what you said on the phone."

"C'mon, you're not mad, are ya? I didn't mean t' hurt yer feelin's, but grown men don't hold hands together, unless dere queer." Stanley snorted and looked away. "I'm sorry, are ya queer? I mean, it's okay if ya are." The big man shook his head sourly. "What's da madder then? Why don't ya ever talk t' da girls?"

"I talk to the nurses."

"That don' count." Willie moved closer so the monitor wouldn't hear. "When was da last time ya got laid?" Stanley started to cry. "Aw, man, don't do dat, it's alright. There's lossa people who're, what, 25—"

"33."

"—Yeah, an' never done it."

"Who, for instance?"

He shrugged. "I dunno. Nuns?" Stanley started to pound himself on the leg. "Stop—stop it, what're ya, nuts?" Willie patted his friend on the back. "Tell ya what. You be my Marlboro man, and I'll getcha date." His fat friend looked up with childish enthusiasm.

"With Nurse Jessie?"

"Oh no, she's _my_ girlfriend. Wit' Angela. She's da hottest chick in dis cage."

"Really? Have you…?"

"Uh…not 'xactly. All these meds make me numb. I d-don't think my stuff even works anymore."

Stanley whispered in his roommate's ear. "Angela does it with Dr. Ned in the storage room."

"Angela does it wit' anyone anywhere…which reminds me, ya bedder wear somethin'. I don' 'spose your mom would bring ya some condoms." Stanley shook his head, horrified at the idea. "It's okay, I'll take care a' it." Stanley reached over to his friend in gratitude. "Don' hold my hand."

Willie surveyed the area, taking note of the high concrete wall, the oak tree visible just beyond and their monitor, Jorge, stationed indoors at the window, engrossed in a newspaper. The patient removed his slippers.

"C'mere," He motioned to Stanley, patting the wall. "And bend over."

"Why? What are you going to do?"

"I'm gonna climb up onto yer shoulders to the top a' dis wall."

"Willie, no! It's not safe. Don't go out there."

"Shuddup an' trust me. I'm jus' goin' fer a walk."

Willie scrambled up to the stone ledge which lined the yard's perimeter, then climbed onto the overhanging tree branch and shimmied to the ground.

He breathed in the sunshine and marveled at the expanse of lawn before him, squishing damp grass between his toes. He could walk down the hill and through the gate, to the street beyond. Stick out his thumb and be in the next county before those guards had a clue. But that wasn't the plan. Willie circled around to the window where his monitor sat oblivious to the situation.

Willie waved. Nothing. He waved both arms and jumped up and down to no avail. Finally, in frustration, the escapee stomped over and banged on the glass pane.

Jorge's head shot up as Willie smiled, flipped him the bird, and ran off across the lawn.

"Pedaso de mierda!" the orderly exclaimed as he bolted for the garden exit. Willie hooted as he scampered down the hill with the attendant in pursuit. Just short of the wrought iron gate, the loony let Jorge catch up and tackle him to the ground.

"Lunático loco!" the aide cried, clutching his heart as Willie made snow angels in the grass. "You gonna get me fired, Psycho."

The patient stood abruptly. "C'mon den, le's go home." He walked calmly back toward the building.

"No, no!" Jorge yanked him out of sight as Nurse Annie appeared at the window looking for her aide. "Not that way."

"Sorry, is dere a problem?" Willie asked as the guard dragged him around the corner. "Where we goin', amigo?"

"Back door."

Jorge led the patient through the employees' entrance and through the locker room. As the attendant peeked through the door to see if the coast was clear, Willie plucked Nurse Katie's ID badge from the table and slipped it into his pocket.

* * *

After lights out, Stanley untied his friend from his nighttime restraints and Willie went to work. He crawled out the door and down the hallway, keeping below the radar of the security cameras, towards Dr. Ned's office. He scanned the card and, as he closed the door behind him, a motion sensor switched on the overhead light.

Willie jumped and let out a little yell at the sudden sight of the ventriloquist dummy inches from his face. He spun around and had a second start at the sight of the doll's reflection in the mirror opposite. Beneath the looking glass, Dr. Ned's little "vanity" spot contained a blow dryer, brush, hair mousse, an electric shaver and men's cologne. The young man briefly regarded his image in the uncomplimentary shadows of the overhead florescent light. He looked pale and scrawny, with long shaggy hair and dark circles—reminiscent of a grubby child wearing daddy's clothes, but with the eyes of a haunted, old man. No wonder the dashing Dr. Ned made fun of him.

He poked the dummy once on the nose, to make sure she wouldn't comment or, worse, bite. Sabrina, as Dr. Ned affectionately named her, stared back with glassy eyes and a painted smile, so Willie decided he was safe from interference.

With a paper clip, Willie jimmied open the desk drawer and discovered a treasure trove of contraband, including booze, smokes, magazines, Polaroid photos and an envelope containing little packets of white powder. But it couldn't look like anything was amiss, so he disturbed nothing and took only what he came for—three condoms.

Then he broke into the file cabinet and took out the folder with his name on it. Dr. Ned had to be the biggest dick on God's good earth, Willie thought as he read the man's notes. Willie's medical history said he was at times catatonic or schizophrenic and suffered PTSD from childhood sexual abuse. That was complete bullshit, and he certainly would look up PTSD at his earliest opportunity.

The patient was described as belligerent, disruptive, manic, manipulative, infantile, violent, uncooperative, paranoid, and a host of other unflattering adjectives. It said he had hallucinations and heard voices during their sessions, which was a damn lie. It stated that Loomis had repeatedly attacked him, verbally and physically, once with a dangerous weapon. That also wasn't true. It was only once, and that was a goddam popsicle stick. Willie slowly closed the folder. How was he ever going to get sprung from this loony bin when Dr. Ned kept making up these stories about him?

"Someday, mister, you really are gonna get stabbed," Willie whispered as he replaced the file and relocked the cabinet. "An' no one will cry for you."

As he was about to leave, the burglar noticed framed diplomas on the therapist's wall. They weren't the same as the ones in Dr. Gordon's office. This guy had a bachelor of arts in Psychology and a master's degree in social work. Damn, he wasn't even a real doctor.

On way back to his room, Willie tossed the ID badge under a couch for the cleaning crew to find.

Mission accomplished, Willie delivered the condoms to his anxious but obviously elated roommate.

"I was worried; what took you so long—three? Three! Do you think I'll need that many?"

"I wasn't goin' to all dat trouble fer one. I don' think he'll notice. He's got a shitload stuffed in dere. Now ya got a spare, in case one breaks, an' one to, uh, practice with."

"Practice? Of course I'll have to practice! Will you show me how to put it on?

"No way in hell. Get yourself a pickle." Stanley pulled a banana out of nightstand. His fingers trembled as he tried to rip open the package. "Oh, gimme dat before ya have a heart attack."

* * *

Willie was standing on a corner by the park. He was out, working the streets again, wearing his black leather jacket. The young man stood in the pooled light of a streetlamp, casually watching traffic cruise by.

_What am I doing here? I'm too old for this. Told Jason I'd never work again. _

"Nice night," said a voice behind him. "Join me for a drink, rent boy?"

Willie turned to see Father Donahue standing there, holding a bottle of wine. The priest looked exactly the same as he had all those years ago when he was a guidance counselor at St. Jerome's Home for Boys. Tall, close trimmed red hair, pale blue eyes, and that friendly, fatherly smile.

"You remember me, don't you?"

"I think so. They say you gave me STD, and now I'm bat-shit crazy." He needed to look up what those letters meant.

The other man laughed. "I think you mean PTSD." He took a swig from the bottle and offered it to Willie, who shook his head. That was how the trouble started the first time. "Why exactly are you pointing your little troubled finger at me? I thought we enjoyed each other's company."

"I was just a kid. A stupid kid."

"That's your excuse? Really? Don't pretend to be so innocent. A street-smart punk like you knows exactly what he's getting into."

"…I don't remember what I was thinkin'."

"You accepted my gifts without a second thought, drank wine until you passed out, came to my office every time I called for you." The priest looked him hard in the eye. "You never said no. Not once. You never fought back or cried for help."

"You said it was a sin to disobey a priest. I was 'fraid."

"So afraid that you ran away and kept right on doing it, turning tricks with strangers for money."

"B-but I—no—" Willie couldn't finish the sentence. That was exactly what he had done.

"Or was that my fault, too? You're pretty good at laying guilt on other people. How much longer are you going to say _I'm just a kid_?" Again Father offered the bottle, and this time Willie accepted and took a swig. "See? You have no self control, no morals. Dr. Ned called you a sexually promisc…" he had trouble recalling the word, "social-path."

"Dr. Ned?"

Father Donahue wasn't standing there after all; that must have been his imagination. It was Dr. Ned, holding his vindictive ventriloquist dummy.

"Still hearing voices, Psycho?" Sabrina mocked him. "Ghosts from the past come to haunt your dreams, don't they? Now you've dragged poor Stanley down to your level. You're nothing but a thieving whore. Barnabas Collins wrote in your file that you are thoughtless, stupid and selfish, selfish, selfish!" Her voice rose to a high pitched squeal.

The therapist and the doll exchanged glances for a brief moment and simultaneously burst into laughter.

With an anguished cry, Willie swung the wine bottle, smashing it onto the lamppost, and attempted to wield the jagged edge at his adversaries. But his arms were stuck to his sides, wrapped around his body, unable to move. The broken bottle fell to the ground and rolled away into the shadows.

"They'll never let you out. You're going to be a sad, little fruitcake with PTSD for the rest of your life." Ned walked off into the dark night, cradling the dummy. Sabrina peeked over the doctor's shoulder and waved goodbye.

Willie was too drugged to wake up, but he thrashed about and screamed in his sleep until a nurse came in to calm him. Thanks to his handy earplugs, Stanley snored away in the next bed, well accustomed to his roommate's nighttime terrors.


	17. The Visit

Willie was in the library reading _Hamlet _when the bell chimed for visitors' hour. It had been an interminable day. There were no sessions on weekends and Stanley was now permitted to spend Saturdays and Sundays at home with his mother.

Bug Eyes and Roberta were commandeering the TV Room, watching the Saturday afternoon lineup of old movies. During _The Little Colonel_, they concluded that Shirley Temple was either an alien spy or a succubus, causing Roberta to attack the television set. The next film was _Horsefeathers_, during which Bug Eyes marched about chanting _"whatever it is, I'm against it,"_ along with Groucho. He then procured an imaginary horn and set off in search of a nurse to chase.

It was time for his shower, but Willie was reluctant to disrupt the unfolding drama. Hamlet was crying at his girlfriend's grave. She killed herself after the prince yelled, treated her like dirt and called her a whore. Sure, now he was sorry, but it was too late. Everything this poor schmuck did was either too soon or yesterday's news.

"What're you reading?" Gary was standing over his shoulder. The orderly usually worked in D Ward, with the violent cases, but he was covering a shift for Mitch.

"_Words words words_. It's about this guy who broke up with his girlfriend."

"You're doing okay, though."

"Huh?"

"There's a beautiful babe in the reception area waiting for you." Gary said, handing a visitation pass to the patient. The patient's head shot up as he slammed the book closed. "You are one lucky guy." Willie was speechless; he started for the door. "Hey, you, book back on the shelf." The patient grabbed the play and shoved it in place. "Don't break it."

"No no, can't break the spine. First edition. Very valuable." He raced out the door, tripping on his slippers.

* * *

She was sitting on the upholstered chair Tony Peterson had occupied not long ago. Hands clutching her purse, legs crossed demurely at the ankle. The young man hesitantly approached Victoria Winters.

"Uh, Vicki, I-I mean Ms. Winters—hi." Willie was confused. "Did you come to see me? That was n-nice."

Even if it wasn't Maggie, the patient was so happy to see someone from Collinsport, he wanted to grab and hug her. Plant a big wet one right on the kisser. _No, she'll scream._ He almost plopped down on the floor at her feet. _No, that looks crazy. Just sit in the other chair and act normal. Make nice conversation. Speak slowly and pronounce all your words. _

"Listen, I'm sorry for those things I said to you the other day."

"I don't understand."

"You know, in the study at Collinwood. I thought you were gonna cry."

"That happened a long time ago, Willie. You were a different person."

"Oh…I just wanted to make sure I apologized, since you drove all this way."

"David told me about your dilemma. He tried to talk to Dr. Hoffman, but she's too preoccupied to make time for a visit it seems." There was the slightest edge to her voice, not enough to be impolite, but unmistakable. "So I brought the bag with your things in it." She knew Willie was never the tidiest of men, but he appeared now like a shaggy-haired hobo. "It certainly looks as though you could use them."

He self-consciously twisted the voluminous folds of his stained T-shirt. "Yeah, I sure could. Th-thank you." He looked around, perplexed. The duffle was nowhere in sight.

"A nurse took it away to remove, she said, any objects which would be restricted."

The young man nodded. "They got a lotta rules here. Kinda like bein' back in prison, ya know? No—I mean—you wouldn't know about prison, I just—never mind."

"It's alright, I understand." Vicki smiled. "How are you getting on?"

"Oh, I'm good. Real good. I can talk now and everything." The patient wrung his hands a bit nervously. "I'm awful glad you came. You're my first visitor."

"Willie, I'm actually here for two reasons. One is to see you, of course. But I'm also wondering if there's a doctor or anyone here who remembers a former patient named Jeff Clark."

"Never heard a' him."

"He's my fiancé."

Willie frowned._ What happened to Burke? So, now she's dating a crazy guy? Shuddup, don't ask. If she don't tell you, don't ask. _

"He was admitted here with amnesia. We want to know if there's any other history or information."

"Then you should talk to Doc Gordon. I can set that up for ya. We're tight." He asked Nurse Deb at the monitor station to page the Ward B administrator. "Did David come?" Willie looked at the governess hopefully. "He said he was gonna."

"Yes, but I'm afraid he has to wait in the car. I didn't know they don't allow children under 18 to visit."

Willie looked sadly out the double glass doors past the reception desk to see the boy reading in the back seat of a convertible Cadillac in the parking lot.

Willie ripped through the contents of the duffle bag deposited on his bed like a kid on Christmas morning. It was all there. Well, not everything. His belt was missing, his razor (of course), the shoelaces from his sneakers, the drawstrings from his hoodie and sweatpants, and his dwindling collection of little hotel shampoo bottles. Worst of all, gone was the tie belt from his soft terrycloth bathrobe, the one he lifted from the Panama City Hilton. But he could still wear it.

In a flash, Willie pulled on a pair of jeans and a clean, white T shirt (one that really fit) and tube socks. The sneakers were useless without laces but, nestled at the bottom of the bag were his fine, Italian ankle boots, just like the ones Barnabas wore, only much more scuffed. He donned his old leather jacket and combed back his hair. James Dean was back in town. A minute later the jacket was discarded because it was too frigging hot.

Willie strutted into the Common Room, but no one acknowledged or expressed admiration for his new ensemble. Maybe they didn't recognize him. The fashion plate stuck his head inside the door to Doc Gordon's office.

"Sorry to interrupt. You gonna be a while?"

Victoria sat in the armchair watching the doctor root through his file cabinet in search of a folder.

"I won't keep your visitor too long."

"It's okay, take yer time." Willie lifted a lab coat from the rack and slipped out the door.

The patient surveyed the reception area as he donned the white coat with clip-on ID attached. Nurse Deb at the monitor station was flirting with Vinnie. All the nurses flirted with Vinnie. If there was an Insane Asylum Orderlies Calendar, he would be on the cover.

Nicole sat behind the front desk, nose buried in a _Victoria's Secret_ shopping catalogue, her favorite reading material.

Willie walked up with authority, his heels clicking on the linoleum floor. He signed the log, flashed his badge and strode out the front door.

"Hey, who are you and what've you done with David Collins?" Willie grinned as he jumped into the seat next to the boy. "You're growin' like a beanstalk."

"Well, it doesn't matter how big I am, they said I couldn't come in."

"So I went AWOL. Don't have long, though. What's all the news from Collinwood?"

"Nothing much. Oh, Burke Devlin died in a plane crash." He looked away sadly. "Two minutes later, Vicki has a new boyfriend and she doesn't even talk about Burke. It's all Jeff this and Jeff that." The boy pulled out a pack of cigarettes, offered one to his companion, and lit up.

"You smoke?"

"What's it going to do, stunt my growth? Anyway, I brought these for you." He tossed the pack to Willie. "Stole them from the housekeeper."

"Good man." They smoked for a moment in silence. "So, you got a new housekeeper to replace Mrs. Johnson?"

"Yes, Mrs. Pratt, but I never see her. No one in that damn house ever talks to me. Aunt Elizabeth walks around like a zombie; all she says is that's she's going to die." David pulled a silver flask from his hip pocket. "Brandy?"

"Are you serious?"

"It's father's. He won't miss it, he has lots of them."

"How is Jolly Roger?"

"He got married again."

"No shit." Willie was astonished. "So, now you have, what? A stepmother?"

"She's a witch; I hate her." David took a swig from the flask and downed the libation with little difficulty.

"C'mon, you read a lotta stories, all stepmothers are like that." He briefly observed the adolescent. "Do you 'member tellin' me a long time ago how much you hated your dad 'cause he was gonna send you to boardin' school?" David nodded. "Well, with all the crap goin' on at your house, maybe that ain't such a bad idea any more. I went to boardin' for awhile. Well, kinda."

"And look how you turned out."

"Fuck off."

The two sneered at each other for a moment, then simultaneously burst into laughter. A blaring siren went off inside the building and throughout the grounds.

* * *

Dr. Gordon was chatting with Miss Winters, relating what he remembered of Jeff Clark's medical history, when an urgent voice came over his walkie.

"This is not a drill. We have a Code Yellow. Repeat, Code Yellow." The administrator flew out the door and grabbed the nearest staff member.

"Head count came up one short, sir."

"Do you know who? Never mind, I know who." He swung around to the reception monitor. "What did you see?"

"Nothing, sir. I was here the whole time."

Dr. Gordon stomped to the reception desk.

"Nicole!" her head shot up in bewilderment. "Who left the building?"

"Uh, it was you, sir. I thought…I saw your badge."

The doctor raised a brow. "Really? You confused me with a small Caucasian man with long blond hair."

"But-but you signed out."

Gordon checked the log. It was signed _Igor Humperdick_.

"I want another head count immediately!" the doctor barked. "Call a fire drill."

The siren went off.

Of course, some of the loonies panicked, but the attendants efficiently ushered them to queue up at the side door which led to the garden. Nicole's job was to escort the visitors out the front door.

* * *

Willie and David jumped at the sudden loud noise.

"Holy mother of shit!" Willie leapt over the convertible door and started to run. He braked and sprinted briefly back to the car. "Thanks. Thanks a lot."

"Any time."

He grimaced. "Prob'ly not." And set off again.

Willie scaled the tall, black wrought-iron fence which surrounded the garden, carefully navigating the long, Gothic spirals on top. _Tonight's nightmare will be brought to you by Vlad the Impaler. _He braced himself and leaped.

The doctor's lab coat caught on a spiral and Willie found himself dangling eight feet from the ground. It would look really bad if he was discovered hanging off the fence. As he attempted to disengage himself from his binding, the coat split open with a long rip and both were sent tumbling.

Willie bundled the coat into a ball and dashed around the corner of the building. There was a lineup of loonies on one side of the garden path, staff on the other. Behind the inmates was the row of orderlies. Nurse Annie and Dr. Gordon proceeded down the aisle, checking off names.

The young man sprinted silently to the group and slipped in next to the last attendant. Jorge turned to see the panting patient suddenly appear beside him, and shoved him to the front line. Willie stuffed the coat bundle behind his back as the doctor and nurse approached.

"Willie."

"Yessir."

"What's behind your back?" The doctor, usually a nice kind of fellow, had that look Barnabas would get right before his servant would get whacked across the room. But Willie wasn't worried because Doc Gordon would never hurt him. He wasn't allowed to.

"Oh, this?" Willie produced the ruined lab coat. "It was on the ground."

"You smell like cigarettes and whiskey."

"Now, sir, that's just not true. With all due respect, I smell like brandy."

* * *

"I just wanted to go for a walk! Why can't a person go for a goddam walk if they wanna?" Willie shouted. It was Sunday evening and, except for bedtime, he had spent the previous 24 hours sitting in a corner, back to the wall, with a monitor posted nearby. Even his meals were delivered on a tray.

"Nurse Jessie!" he called to her, beginning to cry. "Listen, I just wanted to see my little brother, that's all. He's dyin' of a fatal disease. Why don't ya want me to have visitors like other people? I didn't hurt nobody." But his girlfriend did not come over to comfort him. Willie hugged himself as his leg started to bounce and the tears started for real. "Hey, I don't think you guys fed me today. You can't do that; it's against the law. I'm gonna call Humphrey Bogart and sue your asses!"

The monitor leaned over and whispered in Willie's ear. "Shut your mouth or I will shut it for you. You're getting on my nerves."

Willie drew his knees up close and buried his head there, sobbing quietly.

"You know, I volunteered to be your guard dog," Steve continued with a smile. "After you got me in trouble, I figured I owed you one. Why don't you get yourself thrown into ITA, and we can enjoy some alone time, just you and me, huh?"

The orderly continued to confide in his charge an agenda of activities they could pursue under those circumstances.


	18. Fun with Ned and Sabrina

**Chapter 18 – Fun with Ned and Sabrina**

Willie Loomis was very quiet in the days following as they progressed into weeks. He kept his head down and did not interrupt in sessions, nor did he volunteer to share. He did not respond to Steve's goading or accidental inappropriate touches. The patient consoled himself with his comfortable old jeans and T-shirts and wore his robe on top like a terrycloth lab coat.

"Today we're going to discuss something new," Dr. Ned announced to the group, which sat in folding chairs in a little circle, as he held the ventriloquist dummy on his lap. "If anybody has trouble talking about it, Sabrina will help them." Moira nodded with approval. "How many of us here suffer from PTSD?" All the patients, save Willie, raised their hands. "Who knows what PTSD means?" All the hands lowered. "Can anyone take a guess?"

"Perverse Temple of Satanic Demons."

"Parallel Time Sensor Device."

"Pastrami Tomato Sandwich Deluxe."

"Penis Torpedo Snatch Detector."

"Pretty Dolly Solves Depression."

"Dolly doesn't start with T, you human brain fart!" Bug Eyes snapped at Moira, whose face screwed up in silent agony just before the waterfall began.

"Now, those were all good tries—very imaginative—but…" Dr. Ned looked around in mock surprise. "Why, Willie, no scholarly hypothesis from you?"

"It stands for Post Trau-ma-tic Stress Disorder." The therapist cocked his brow. "I, uh, looked it up once."

"And, pray tell, what does that mean?"

"It's when shit happens to you and afterwards ya freak out about it."

"Yes, well, that's not exactly the textbook definition." At this point the therapist recited from his notes. "It is an anxiety that may develop after a person is exposed to one or more traumatic events, such as sexual assault, serious injury, or the threat of death. Symptoms include disturbing flashbacks or nightmares, avoidance or numbing of memories of the event, and episodes of hyperarousal occurs months or even years later. Understand?" The group nodded with vaguely confused expressions. "Who would like to share?

"I have episodes of hyperarousal," Angela volunteered.

"How about you, Willie?" The young patient shook his head.

"Ooh, me." Stanley waved his arm in the air. "It happened when I was twenty-seven. I was reading and eating a Three Musketeers bar when my father came in and demanded I go outside with him and help to shovel the snow. I said no, I was tired, why couldn't we hire someone to shovel our driveway? It hadn't even stopped snowing yet. So, we had a big fight, and Dad went out alone to shovel the front of our house. I was angry at him for making me feel bad, so I made cocoa and returned to my book. Next thing I knew, it was three hours later and Dad hadn't come in. I looked out the window but couldn't see anything. Finally, I went outside. My father had a heart attack and was lying dead covered in a snow drift."

The group was silent.

"Stanley, how does that experience make you feel now?"

"I hate snow. I get very nervous when it snows, especially if I'm outside or driving. I'm afraid it's going to bury me.

"So you live in Maine. Good thinking," Angela interrupted. "Why don't you just move to Florida or something?"

"Oh no, we can't, Aunt Erma is afraid of spiders and alligators—"

"Thank you for sharing, Stanley. That was very good, although technically not an experience of personal trauma." The therapist put a star on the young man's chart. "Willie, you're next."

"For what?"

"I want you to tell the group what happened to you as a child."

"N-nothin'."

"Denial!" Bug Eyes crowed and made a note of the fact on his pad.

"How c-could it?" Willie stammered. "I never even had a dad."

"My father slept with me," Angela volunteered.

"Not now," Ned held up his hand. "It's still Willie's turn." He returned to his reluctant patient. "You told Dr. Julia about your relationship with a priest at school and later an assault by a police officer. Now you need to share your feelings with the group. That's how you get better."

Willie looked askance, shaking his head. "I d-don't remember none a' that." He shrugged. "I think Julia made a mistake."

"Or the shock therapy fried your brains out," Angela offered.

Willie nervously shifted in his chair, becoming increasingly anxious and defensive toward these accusations. It suddenly felt as if this entire session had been orchestrated to target him.

"This is what we do in group therapy. I don't know why you think the rules apply to everyone except you." The doctor held up his wooden companion. "If you're afraid, maybe Sabrina could tell us for you," Ned suggested. "Would you like that?"

"Christ, no. I think your fuckin' doll is creepy. What's more creepy is the way you sit there, strokin' that thing's hair. What kind of a weirdo are you anyway?"

"Wrong response. You have just lost a star from your chart."

"You can stick that chart up your ass 'cause it's a load of crap, and so are you. You're not even a real doctor."

The group stared at Ned.

"Well, it's more of an honorary title."

"Who the hell honored you with it, besides you?" Willie continued. "Nobody else calls themselves doctor if they ain't, not Gene or Betty Jo…"

The therapist handed the doll to Moira and stood, his hands balling into fists. "Where exactly did you get this information?"

"Julia, 'cause she's a real doctor, and knows everythin'. She told me you're the biggest bullshit artist in this joint."

Ned stomped over to his contentious patient and stared him in the face. "And when did this alleged conversation take place? She hasn't been here in over two years."

"She sent me a telegram. I gave it to Bug Eyes and he ate it."

Bug Eyes smiled and nodded, corroborating the story.

Dr. Ned looked like he wanted to punch his patient. "That's enough of your ridiculous lies," he spat, returning to his seat. "You may go to the Common Room and sit in the corner."

"No! Not again, NO!" Willie jumped up and threw his chair to the floor. "I can't do that again!"

"You should have thought of that before you disrupted my session!" Ned bellowed, then spoke into his shoulder walker. "This is Dr. Ned. I need an aide to escort Mr. Loomis to a corner with a one-on-one monitor—for the rest of the day."

Willie was determined not to cry in front of his peers, but before leaving the room he turned to the group leader and remarked, "_You appear no other thing to me than a foul and pestilent congregation of vapors_."

"Nice one," Bug Eyes noted that on his pad. "Can I quote you on that?

_When sorrows come, they come not as single spies, but in battalions._

Willie leaned his head against the wall and sniffed while his guard dog sat in front of him, chuckling at a magazine article. The detainee's friends offered what comfort they could. Bug Eyes crouched behind the sofa and popped up every few minutes like a Jack in the Box, then disappeared again. Angela walked by and flashed her boobs in his direction.

The young patient was going to go crazy if he stayed in that corner one more minute. Well, more crazy. Point of no return crazy. Barnabas would have never put up with this shit. If Willie were still a vampire, this would not be happening. He was foolish to have given that up for Maggie.

"_Tis now the very witching time of night, _

_when churchyards yawn and hell itself breathes out contagion to this world._

_Now could I drink hot blood, and do such bitter business, as the day would quake to look on."_

"Shut up, it's not the witching hour, it's not even dinner time," the aide responded. "And you know what? Every time you act up, one of us is stuck sitting here along with you, so don't whine to me."

"Can I have somethin' to read too?"

"Nope. You're processing, my friend. You need to think about what you said and how you can do better."

Willie could have done better had he grabbed the devil doll and cracked it over Ned's dead head. He began to rock back and forth, babbling in Mandarin Chinese. He ordered dinner and asked where to find the prettiest whores.

"I can't stand you anymore. Don't go anywhere till I get back." The guard rolled up his magazine and took off, speaking into his shoulder walkie. "Mitch taking a restroom break. Keep a visual on Psycho in CR."

Why didn't Jason appear to him anymore? True, Willie told him to fuck off when he did show up, but that never stopped him before. And where was little Sarah? She had always been there to rescue him in the past. They had both saved his life, more than once. But Dr. Ned wrote in his chart that the two were figments of his imagination, voices in his head. Maybe that was true. The young man didn't know what was real anymore.

But if they didn't exist, that meant he had no one, not one friend in the world, living or dead. No, that wasn't true. There was Stan. Fat Boy liked him and had cared for his roommate faithfully when he was a zombie. All he asked in return was to hold his hand. Willie resolved to treat his best friend with more kindness and give him all the cake and condoms he wanted.

But these human guards must not be allowed to wield this kind of power. Willie would have to become a vampire again. Then he would bite them all, and they would be his slaves. He would bite the nurses too, especially Nurse Jessie. The vampire would return and rule them all.

"Willie, guess what!" Stanley waddled up to his pal, brimming with excitement. "I've been released! I'm going home!"


	19. The Very Bad Day

"You have betrayed me!" Willie hollered. Jumping to his feet, he backhanded his friend across the face and was infuriated when the big man did not fall down bleeding. He searched briefly but could not locate his cane, so the patient beat on Stanley with his fists.

"Containment crew to CR: STAT," was heard on the loudspeaker.

"Ya like to hit yourself all the time—here, let me do it for ya!" Willie yelled.

Stanley withdrew, whimpering in confusion as Leroi grabbed his assailant from behind, pinning his arms back. "Somebody's going to ITA."

"Traitorous cur!" Willie yelled, flailing furiously.

Steve reached to pick up the patient's legs, but Willie swung back and, with the hard leather toe of his ankle boot, kicked him squarely in the nuts. The aide's mouth flew open to scream, but no sound emerged. He grabbed his crotch, collapsed to his knees and fell sideways to the floor.

Bug Eyes was howling like a wild dog, doing Olympic somersaults on the couch, as Leroi picked up Willie and hauled him away.

"Unhand me, you filthy shit-kicker!" The crazy inmate continued to kick furiously.

"What the hell was all that about?"

"I'm a vampire; I do not have to justify myself to you. You will learn your place, boy!"

The large black man stopped short and threw Willie against the wall, pinning him there with an enormous hand splayed across his chest.

"You will stop that trash coming out of your mouth right now. You got a problem with Steve? I don't blame you; go ahead and handle it. But you don't beat on another patient, especially when he's the only friend you got." Leroi looked him in the eye and spoke with unmistakable sincerity. "And if you disrespect me again, I will whup your ass. Hear me, _boy_?"

"You c-can't do that; it's against the rules and you'll get fired."

"For you, Psycho, I could sell tickets."

Willie squirmed under the powerful aide's grip. _When he was disgruntled, the master would bash him against the wall like that, grab his arms and sink razor-sharp fangs into his neck. Steal his life force until the servant dropped on the floor._

"Get offa me, you blood-sucking freak!" Willie yelled, tugging at the orderly's arm. Then he spat in Leroi's face.

Psycho was tossed into a padded room, landing on the springy white canvas floor. Leroi followed and proceeded to confiscate the offender's fine leather boots.

"What are ya doin'? You can't take my shoes."

"You used them as a weapon, so now you lose them. Those are the rules."

Leroi left the room and bolted it.

"Hey, you're not gonna close that, are ya?" The patient darted to the door, standing on tiptoe to see out the little sliding peephole. "There's n-no light in here."

"Because there's nothing to look at, bad ass." He slid the viewer shut.

It was pitch dark inside the Isolation Therapy Area, except for a tiny green light on the ceiling security camera. A loony could thrash and jump all around and it wouldn't matter; he'd just bounce off the wall and land on the soft padded floor. But Willie was shagged out after his tirade and sat in the middle of the room.

"Uh, hello? Where's my candle? I'm pretty sure it says on my chart that I get a candle," the patient called out. There was no response. "Okay, I'm repentant now. I remembered that word, Barnabas." Silence. Darkness. Willie laid down and took a nap.

* * *

Willie and Jason were in Hong Kong, drunk off their asses. They danced in the middle of a parade, eating Cantonese pizza and swinging bottles of Too Soo Brew. It was nighttime, but the street was so brightly lit, you couldn't tell, and they could barely speak over the din: music, all kinds of percussion instruments and noise makers, cheering, laughter, fireworks.

The young man lost his balance and sat down in the middle of the street, swilling his drink.

"No, no," The Irishman pulled Willie to his feet. "Not there. You'll be run over by a dragon."

"Let's get some women. The most talented ladies in the world!"

"You can have whatever you want. It's your birthday."

"It is? Hot damn! I wanna 'nother beer." The boy shoved the food into his jacket pocket. "I'm gonna save this for Stanley."

Just then two stone-faced police constables approached the pair. Without explanation, they apprehended Willie, each taking an arm, and carted him away.

"Hey, lemme go; I didn't do nothin'. Jason, help me!"

"You obstructed the dragon," his companion called after him. "I'll see ya when ya get out!"

"Don't forget to give my pizza to Stanley. He loves pizza!"

He glanced at the law officers on either side. They were, in fact, the vampire and the doctor.

"Barnabas? Julia? Ya finally came." Neither escort looked at him or spoke. "Is somethin' the matter? Where we goin'?"

Before he could protest, Willie was taken into a dark alley, wherein A the clamor from street festivity abruptly disappeared with the light.

* * *

Willie was jarred to consciousness when the ITA door swung open and blinding overhead lights switched on. The young man couldn't remember where he was or how long he had been there. Perhaps he was just waking up after that last binge, but he didn't feel drunk, just disoriented.

Steve limped into the room carrying a chair and a three-foot long piece of inch-thick rubber tubing coiled in his hand. Without comment, the orderly slammed the door and stood on the chair in order to reach the security camera, which he switched off. Then he shoved the chair under the doorknob and approached the errant patient.

"You little son of a bitch," he sneered. "I'm not going to walk straight for a month…so neither are you."

The first blow struck Willie on the leg. He scrambled to the nearest corner and crouched into a ball. Always minimize the target; keep the face and hands out of harm's way. When the hose came down on his back, Willie almost laughed. Did he think that was painful? Obviously he never lived with a vampire. Okay, the next one was painful. He hunkered further into the corner.

"Go ahead and yell, the walls are sound proof," Steve said, swinging his arm back. "I want to hear you scream."

"Fuck you."

"That'll be next."

Again Willie wished he was still a vampire. He wished he still had the shotgun, or his switchblade, or a broomstick handle. He wished Barnabas was there to protect him. No way would the master allow this evildoer to treat him like that. Steve's bloody head would be hanging on the front door of the Old House.

The orderly grabbed Willie's hair and yanked the young man out of the corner.

"Enough playing around. Time to get serious."

Willie lunged for the man's ankles, bringing him down face first. The patient did a quick roll out of the way, grabbed the flying hose and sprang to his feet.

"Okay, let's get serious," Willie replied, swinging the hose over his head like a lasso. He could still fight like a street rat. Those moves stayed with a person like muscle memory

The first strike took the orderly by surprise when it burned across his cheek. The second stung Steve's fingers as tried to reach for it. Willie laughed at the loser's ineptitude. Face and hands, got to keep them out of the way. Eventually, Steve secured a grasp on the rubber tube and yanked it forward, bringing Willie with it. He seized the boy by the shirt, who responded by punching him in the throat.

The two grappled for the discarded hose and seemed to be playing tug o' war with it when the door crashed open, which sent the chair flying. Leroi rushed in and wretched the tube from their clutches.

"Not on my shift, you mother. Leroi grabbed his coworker, pulling him aside. "What the hell is wrong with you? You want to lose your job right now, when your wife's pregnant _again_?"

"Rubber hose won't leave a mark," Steve replied, panting. "No one will know."

"I'm a helpless mental patient, and he hit me," Willie whined. "I'm tellin'."

"Shut up," the black man pulled him up off the floor. "This stays in here. Now get out, and no more trouble from you, understand?" Without further ado, he pushed Psycho out the door.

He had lost a sock at some point during the struggle. Willie rubbed a stinging shoulder as he wandered down the hallway to the Common Room where a sad-faced Stanley was sitting by the door with his suitcase. Fat Boy looked apprehensive as his roommate approached and sat next to him. No one spoke for several minutes.

"I'm sorry I hit ya," Willie said at length. "That was a dick thing to do. I was mad 'cause you're leavin' and I'm not. If it makes ya feel any better, Steve just beat the crap outta me. Or tried to."

"That's because you're not supposed to kick staff members, especially not _down there_."

"Yeah, I know, but I did it anyway. If Leroi hadn't busted it up, I prob'ly woulda killed the jerk. I destroyed a vampire once, ya know. Well, Maggie helped a little."

Stan nodded in approval. He never questioned his buddy's casual comments about ghosts and monsters. "I'm sorry I upset you. I wasn't thinking."

"Don't be stupid; you can't hurt me. Ya think I never been left alone before?"

The big guy took a deep, calming breath, resisting the urge to cry and hit himself. "This will be a difficult transition for—for both of us—but I hope we can stay in touch. Most likely I won't be able to visit because they took away my driver's license."

"Great, we'll be like pen-pals," Willie replied sardonically. "And who decided you were better all the sudden? I thought ya hadda go through A Ward before ya could get discharged."

"They wanted to transfer me there a few months ago, but I turned them down."

"Ya did?" Stanley shrugged. "Ya shouldn't a' done that. If that was me, I woulda dumped you like dead mouse."

"No, you wouldn't." They sat quietly for a moment. "Your turn will come soon, then you'll go home too." Fat Boy reached over to hug his friend.

"Don't touch me." Willie pulled away.

The two young men observed Mrs. Mendelssohn enter and sign in at the front desk. "That's my mother," Stanley said.

Willie stood abruptly. "Yeah, well, go then. Have a nice life." He started to leave.

"I'm going to miss you!" Stan called after him.

Willie sighed, somewhat impatiently, and returned to his friend with an extended arm. "Fine, now ya can hold it. There, ya happy?" The two shook hands. "Like my old boss used t' say, _may good fortune attend your endeavors_, which means _stay outta trouble, and don't fuck up_."

Willie pulled his hand back and, without a backward glance, walked away as swiftly as he could.


	20. Easy Way Out

Willie's next roommate was a diaper-wearing zombie in a wheelchair who, in lieu of conversation, drooled. The young man wasn't sure if this guy knew what planet he was on but, just in case, Willie would occasionally talk to him or wheel him through the Common Room and park his chair in front of the TV.

Eventually there was an opening in C Ward and his companion was transferred there to be with his own kind leaving Willie, once again, on his own.

The next admission to the ward was a sweet-faced lady in her 50s named Wendy. She wore flouncy dresses all the time and danced with an invisible partner, listening to a delightful waltz in her head. If you spoke to the woman, she would pause, curtsey, and return to her dance.

Maybe it was his imagination, but Dr. Gordon seemed to be watching him a lot. If Willie caught him, the doctor would just smile and return to his routine. The attendants and nurses were more than usually polite in their requests and even Dr. Ned backed off his quest to humiliate his antagonistic patient at every opportunity. As a result, Willie actually seemed to behave better, but something about it made him uneasy. He thought of telling Bug Eyes there might be a conspiracy so he could include it in his book.

In the recreation yard, Willie sat alone on top of the picnic table, with a cigarette gifted by Vinnie. The leaves were beginning to change color. They whipped about on their branches or flew off into the rising wind to greet the migrating birds overhead.

_Fly away home._ Willie wanted to go home too, although that was not very likely. First of all, he wasn't sure if he even had one. Maggie wasn't his wife anymore, his friends had all disappeared and Barnabas probably got himself a new chew toy. Even Stanley had moved on without his buddy.

Psycho Zombie wondered if he would spend the rest of his miserable life in a mental institution just because he had nowhere else to go.

_Lyddie._

Maybe his mother would take him in. Willie could live with Lydia and her family, if they promised to be responsible for him and see to it that he didn't shoot anyone or do anything crazy. His mom would understand; she said depression was hereditary, or was it insanity she said came from her side? On the other hand, maybe they wouldn't trust an unpredictable mental patient around their spoiled little darlings or that dog with the nervous bladder.

But it was worth a try.

Willie got in line to use the telephone, where he dialed Long Distance Information to get the number of Richard Harrison in Schenectady**,** New York.

His stepfather accepted the call.

"Bill," he said with a despondent tone that hung heavily in the momentary silence that followed. Richard cleared his throat before continuing. "I'm glad you called. I take it you got my message about Lydia."

"I don't remember."

"I telephoned last week but your doctor said you wouldn't be able to handle the news and he would tell you himself."

"Yeah, uh, it's okay now…what happened?"

"Your mother…" His voice cracked. "She sat on that bench at the playground and put a gun to her—"

"This call is being terminated. Please try again at another time." The monitor disconnected the line.

Willie replaced the receiver and stood in a daze.

"Your turn's up; get a move on." The next loony in line pushed Willie into the hallway, and a few seconds later, Leroi and Mitch were at his side.

"How you doing, pal?" Leroi took the smaller man's arm. "Let's go see Doc Gordon. He's waiting for us."

Nurse Jessica was also in the administrator's office with a hypodermic in her hand. The two attendants remained in the background, in case they were needed.

"Your stepfather, Mr. Harrison, called a few days ago," Dr. Gordon began. "We were waiting for the right time to tell you. I certainly didn't want you to find out like this." Everyone in the room looked so apprehensive, regarding Willie like he was a ticking time bomb.

"So, what? Is she dead?"

"Yes, I'm sorry."

"Whatever," The young man shrugged his shoulders. "I'm surprised she didn't do it sooner."

"You don't have to put on a brave face. It's okay to grieve and cry if you need to; it's not a sign of weakness. And I'm here any time you want to talk."

"I don't know what you want me to talk about." Willie played with the paperweight on the doctor's desk.

"Look, you guys, it's all right. I appreciate all this concern and stuff, but to tell the truth, my mom and me weren't that close. I haven't lived with her since I was ten, and that was no picnic, 'cause she was depressed and drunk all the time. Never took me to the movies or a ball game or nothin'. So, I'm sorry, but I ain't gonna get all weepy about it. Can I go now?"

"Alright, Willie," Gordon checked his daily roster. "But I'm making you an appointment to see Dr. Lynne at 4 pm. She is a grief therapist who will just ask you a few questions."

"Can I go after dinner? That way I miss Music Therapy. If it gets me outta that sing-along, I'll tell the lady anythin' she wants to hear."

"You may be excused from your schedule for the rest of the day," the doctor replied. "And Mitch is going to hang out with you for a while."

"Why do I need a monitor? I didn't do nothin' wrong."

"As a favor to me."

The patient smirked. "Could you make it Nurse Jessie instead?"

* * *

Willie and his guard settled into the TV Room where the young man stared silently at the tube, unaware of what program they were watching.

"Are you really into these soap operas?" Mitch asked, a little bored with the lineup.

"No, they're stupid." Willie flipped the channel to _Sesame Street_. I like Oscar the Grouch. When I check outta here, I'm gonna live in a garbage can and yell at people as they walk by."

"Sounds like a good plan."

* * *

Dr. Lynne had a short, boyish bob and pretty brown eyes which reminded Willie of his ex-wife. He thought about flirting with the therapist, but resolved to remain faithful to Nurse Jessie. Lynne began by expressing her condolences and assured Willie that she would listen to anything he wanted to say, maintain complete confidentiality and not pass judgment.

"I don't know what you people want from me."

"Tell me how you feel. Just talk."

"I dunno. I feel like you're all makin' a big fuss when none a' you even knew her. People blow their brains out every day, don't they? Now, that's what I shoulda done. I guess I feel kinda jealous that she did it right on the first try and I'm stuck here with carved-up arms answerin' lame ass questions."

"Do you feel a little angry?"

"Angry? Yeah, 'cause I was hopin' she'd sign me outta here, that's why I called. You don't think Big Dick is gonna let me live with them now, do ya? No, she royally fucked up that plan." Willie regarded the silent woman on the sofa next to him. "Nice, normal folks don't talk about their mothers like that."

"Actually, they do. People in various stages of grief express themselves in many different ways. Sometimes they cry, or laugh, feel disbelief, shock, relief, numbness. They may withdraw from family and friends, lose their appetite or have trouble sleeping."

"Well, I don't have any family or friends, 'cause they're all dead, which is no excuse for not visitin' me anymore. So I don't care about them either. That's another thing to put on your list there. It's a dictionary word: apathy. It means you don't give a shit."

"Fair enough."

"No, it ain't fair. Doc Gordon said you were just gonna ask a couple a' questions."

"It's actually a list of statements, which you rate on a scale of 1 to 5: 1 is Strongly Agree; 3 is No Opinion and 5 is Strongly Disagree. But we can do that next week if you prefer."

"I already told ya everything; why do I haveta come back?"

"Your feelings about this will most likely change over the next few weeks or even months. It can get quite overwhelming, but it's important that you accept your reactions and not avoid them. What you're going to feel is common and natural and you're not alone."

"Because I have this complete stranger who's being paid to listen to me whine."

"You're also welcome to join our grief support group."

"Christ, no. If that happens, I'll just kill myself."

The new client was given a pamphlet to read and a notebook in which to write down his feelings during the week.

* * *

Willie was released from his monitor just before dinner because they were short staffed ever since Steve was transferred to C Ward. As a result, in the future there would be an extra charge on his monthly bill if the patient required one-on-one attention and Mr. Collins, his benefactor, had denied permission for that expenditure.

At 9 pm, Willie took his meds—like a good boy—and retired early. He tossed the pamphlet and notebook in the wastebasket and rummaged through Stanley's top bureau drawer. There, among the stale snack cakes, was an envelope addressed to him. It was dated two months ago, from an exercise Dr. Ned assigned for the participants to write a letter to someone close to them.

_Dear Willie, _

_I don't like when people call you Psycho. You like to act tough, but I know you don't mean a lot of the things you say. You're really a nice person and always look out for me. It's alright when we get in trouble because, before meeting you, I never had adventures. My mother thinks you're a bad influence, but she doesn't understand. You're my best friend and I will always share my cigarettes with you. When we leave here, come visit me in Portland and I'll do your teeth for free. Well, if I ever go back to work, that is._

_Sincerely, _

_your friend forever, Stanley Mendelssohn. _

Willie investigated the other contents. There was one very wrinkled apple, Twinkies, a package of oatmeal cookies, Diet Coke—and box of writing paper, which he pulled out. Underneath the first layer of cardboard was that for which he had been searching: a hoard of medication. He popped open the warm soda and took all his meds—like a good boy. Not really sure why he ingested the overdose, why he had planned all day to do so. Willie didn't feel particularly anxious or aggrieved, but somewhere deep inside, he wanted to be a zombie again. They just sit in front of the TV and drool and don't think about anything.

A short while later Vinnie came by for potty time and found the patient on his hands and knees. He heaved, sucking in mouthfuls of air, his eyes wide and unfocused. Then another episode of vomit spewed out, adding to what was already on the floor. The orderly quickly called a Code Blue into the shoulder walkie and transported his charge to the infirmary where, for the second time in his life, Willie had his stomach pumped.


	21. Strange Bedfellows

Two days later Willie had another electro-convulsive therapy treatment and awoke strapped to a bed in the infirmary. Nearby a tall, large-boned woman attempted to adjust her makeup in the reflection of a stainless steel paper towel dispenser.

"Well, hello, Sleeping Beauty," the woman looked over her shoulder. "Do you know who I have to blow to get a mirror around here? I don't know how a girl's supposed to fix her makeup." She showed the young man her bruised face. "Does it look alright? I can't see a damn thing."

"I dunno. Okay, I guess. I mean, ya gotta black eye." Willie was unsure what he was doing in sick bay to begin with, and had no idea who the loud lady was, but her resonant baritone made his fuzzy head throb. "What happened?"

"I got slammed in the face with a cafeteria tray by some screaming midget who called me the devil's tool. I'll show her my devil's tool."

"Roberta. That's just her way of sayin' hello."

"Hello and goodbye, girlfriend. Making me waste good foundation. This is a custom blend, you know. I'm Polynesian, Puerto Rican and Polish. Cover Girl don't make a shade for that." Willie nodded in agreement. "Who are you?"

"Shanty Irish bastard, but you can call me Willie."

"That's cute. I'm Jacqueline, your new roommate." The young man stared at her, not sure if he heard correctly. "They say I have to sleep in the little boys' dorm for now because I still have my package. I'm a pre-op transsexual." Willie again nodded but had no idea what that meant. "I hope you don't have a problem with that."

"Uh…no."

"Good, because I'll need all the friends I can get in this dressing room dungeon."

"Would you take these cuffs off me?"

Jacqueline complied without a second thought as to whether she should or not. They were just buckled wrist straps, much more comfortable than the jacket Willie was forced to wear at night.

"Shame. You look pretty hot tied down to a bed. It's a good thing you're not my type, or I would eat you like a cupcake—oh, don't give me that look; I'm not going to bother you. I have an adorable husband at home who's big and dark and handsome. What about you?"

Willie sat up and pulled his hospital gown into place. "I used to be married, but she dumped me 'cause I went crazy."

"That was rude."

Willie shrugged. "She also shot me four times." He pulled down the gown in front to show the woman his sternum. "Right here. I used to have this badass scar but it got better when I became a vampire."

Jackie smiled. "You're a little nutcase, aren't you?"

"Duh—that's why I'm here. Ain't that why you're here?

"This is all a mistake. I just lost my temper and attacked a salesgirl behind the Clinique counter at Saks. Stupid cow had no fashion sense, no taste, and she had no right being in that position. I should sue the store for aggravating me like that. Anyway, it was here or prison; I didn't think I would do well in prison."

"You're prob'ly right."

"By the way, I hope you don't mind, but I decorated our room while you were gone."

* * *

The four walls were covered with posters of David Bowie, Marilyn Monroe, Jane Russell, Judy Garland, the girl from _Flashdance_ and Frank N. Furter.

"I recognize most a' these people. She's from _Wizard of Oz_, only not the green one. Oh, and I know that movie," Willie stared at the sweet transvestite. "I saw it in Balti—no, Philly—I don't remember."

"Sorry, I took up all the room, but I don't travel anywhere without my girls."

"It's okay, I guess, as long as they don't talk to me or glow in the dark. Wait, I have somethin' too." He reached into his duffle and pulled out a wrinkled crayon drawing of himself as Luke Skywalker. "My brother made this—half brother…" He taped it to the wall and stood back to admire the artwork. "I was gonna buy a poster once, back when I had a bedroom at the Old House, but I guess I forgot. Are we allowed to do this?"

"I have no idea, dearie, and I really don't care about other people's rules. I disco to a different drummer."

"No shit," Willie laughed.

The young man quickly pulled on his sweatpants and changed into a clean T-shirt, but his jaw dropped when he looked around to see Jackie naked in front of her bureau, in search of just the right nightie. He understood the basic concept that his roommate still possessed original parts, that is to say, his masculine equipment, along with secondary female characteristics, but seeing it in person was jarring and surreal.

"What are you staring at, sweet cakes?" The tranny looked up and posed. "Are you admiring my golden globes?"

"I-I…"

Jacqueline walked over to brush the boy's hair back with her fingers. Willie looked away and willed himself not to flinch.

"I don't want to make you uncomfortable, but if I can't be myself here, where can I?"

"N-no, it's fine. I'm sorry, I d-didn't know what to—I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing. Now you're making _me_ self-conscious. Do you like red or blue?" She held up two sets of sleepwear, both of which looked transparent.

"Uh, red."

"Excellent choice, sir." She remarked, humming _"Don we now our gay apparel…"_ as she dressed for bed.

Willie felt embarrassed for acting like an asshole just then. What was the big deal? He had seen lots of naked men and naked women, just not in the same package.

"My orderly'll be comin' in soon. You should have some fun with him."

Jackie smiled broadly. "Okay, I will."

* * *

As usual, the patients started the day with Community Group, led by Nurse Annie. Jacqueline started off the session with a list of her objections to the asylum's regulations.

"I need my hormone pills at a certain time each day, not when it's convenient for you. Now, you hand them back and I'll take them myself."

"You can't keep meds around Psycho Zombie," Angela offered her advice. "He'll eat them all and grow big boobs and yours will go pfffft!" She made a sound of leaking air through her fingers.

"There are no medications in bedrooms under any circumstances, but thank you for sharing," the nurse remarked curtly.

"Next," Tranny Jack continued, "your gorillas took my things, including my light-up makeup mirror. Also, now I can't shave my legs, I don't have pantyhose, jewelry, scarves, belts or my _best_ shoes. Those were the leopard fur open-toe, six-inch red heels with an ankle strap."

"All those things are potential hazards to patients here at Wyndcliff."

"I will hazard the person who damages those babies. They cost $200."

"Anything that was confiscated will be held in safekeeping and returned when you're released. You're only scheduled for a six-week evaluation."

"You better be right. And all of you can stop staring at me like I have two heads, because if anybody looks like a bunch of freaks, it's you bitches. Little Willie is the only one who understands me." She pulled the boy into a big hug, from which he flinched and pulled away, but at the same time smirked because, for once, someone else was being the lead troublemaker.

"I didn't say anything," Moira began to cry. "I was just wondering how you were able to walk in those terribly high heels."

"Fabulously, that's how."

* * *

Willie couldn't wait to see what happened in Dr. Ned's session and was not disappointed. Jackie plopped the dummy Sabrina into her lap.

"Ooh, baby, that feels good, says Ms. Doll. That's because she never had a tranny hand up her dress before. I hope I don't have to introduce myself again because I saw all of you sweet treats at the last session, except for Dr. Doolittle. Honey, I can smell your Calvin Klein cologne from here. Take it from me, less is more."

"I am not the topic of discussion, Jack," Dr. Ned responded. "Tell us about yourself."

"So, just for you, doc, my name is _Jacqueline_. My hunky husband is Mark and we have an adorable bichon frise named Fluffgirl. I grew up in Oklahoma (so I know there is hell on earth) where I collected Barbie dolls and did makeovers for the neighborhood children. Now I work as a pattern sizer for, well, _someday_ for Dolce and Gabbana, and make all my own clothes. My hobbies are buying shoes and shoplifting makeup."

"Are you quite finished?" Ned obviously couldn't wait to sink his teeth into this one.

"I can yap all day if you like, but I thought someone else might like a turn. I want to hear from the_ Exorcist _girl." She twisted the dummy's head 180 degrees. "You look like you murdered your commune and served them for brunch."

"Give me Sabrina before you break her," Dr. Ned snatched his toy away. "We don't pass judgment here and try to keep our criticisms constructive."

"Since when?" Willie piped up.

"I've warned you about speaking out of turn," the therapist growled. "He doesn't need any encouragement from you." Ned returned his attention to the group. "Now, let me update everyone as to Jack's circumstances. Our friend is here because he has a gender identity disorder—"

"I see a qualified gender therapist for that, thank you. I'm here because I slugged a shop girl."

Ned ignored her and continued. "He thinks that if he dresses and acts like a woman, he is one, and takes estrogen supplements to maintain that illusion. He pretends to be married to another man, which we all know is impossible, and parent to a—what? Bison?"

"Bichon Frise. It's a dog, you dimwit." Jackie stood in defiance. "I have a competent psychiatrist at home, I don't—"

"It's no longer your turn to speak. You will take a seat, young man, or you'll be processed."

"Or what? _Processed?_" She returned to the chair, laughing. "Sounds like a drag queen I knew named Velveeta."

"I'd like to hear input from the other group members. Who would like to begin?"

Roberta spoke up. "If a man has sex with another man as with a woman, they have committed a detestable act. They must both be put to death, for they are guilty of a capital offense and will not enter the kingdom of God."

"In that case, can I have his shoes?" Angela interjected.

"Over my dead body, bitch," Jackie responded.

"That's enough!" Ned was getting red in the face.

"Ooh! Ooh! Me!" Bug Eyes called out, raising his hand. "I want to know if you've ever been in an alien spaceship."

"Not before now," the tranny replied.

"Then you will be the perfect undercover agent for my next mission." He wrote that on his yellow pad. "Your name will be Cracker Jack."

"Jack with a Stack," Angela suggested. Ned ineffectively stifled a guffaw.

"My turn," Moira announced. "I want to know if you have a picture of your dog. I had a dog once and she…she…" The old lady started to blubber.

"Willie," Dr. Ned targeted the women's roommate. "You must have something to contribute. What's it like to share a bedroom with a sexual perversity? Do you find it repulsive, disturbing, or does it perhaps spark a prurient interest?"

Eyes fell on Willie, who looked around uncomfortable and anxious. "Yeah, since ya mentioned it…something happened I want to talk about."

"What?" Angela and Bug Eyes rang out in unison.

"Well, I, uh—can I hold the doll?" he asked shyly. Willie walked over to Dr. Ned who showed him how to operate the mouth mechanism. "I want to stand over there."

The therapist allowed him to cross the room, whereupon the patient held the doll aloft and began to speak through Sabrina in a high-pitched voice.

"I can't stand you no more, Dr. Ned. You are such a fuck wad, I wanna kill myself. Bye bye!" Willie grabbed the dummy by the legs and smashed it, face first, into the wall.

Bug Eyes and Angela howled with delight. Moira became hysterical and Roberta dropped to her knees and prayed. Jackie covered her mouth to conceal a quiet smile. Ned screamed and flew across the room where he tackled Willie to the floor, climbed on top and began to choke him. Willie swung the doll to crack over Ned's perfectly coiffed hair and Sabrina's head flew off. Jackie stomped towards the two with unladylike strides, pulled the therapist up and tossed him away where he toppled his chair and crashed into the opposite wall.

Panting, Ned reached for his walkie. "I want a medical intervention and ITA for Willie Loomis STAT!" The patient sat up, rubbing his neck with a grin. "And you," he spat at Jackie. "I'll take care of you later."


	22. Revenge of the Mad Doctor

"_NOOOO!_ NOOO! You sons of bitches! You can't do that!" Jackie swept her arms across the nurses' desk and sent its contents flying. She threw the stapler. She threw the tape dispenser. She actually picked up and flung the rolling desk chair before collapsing to the floor, wailing hysterically. This set off the usual chain reaction of raving amongst the able-bodied patients, who shrieked, ran for cover or laughed. Bug Eyes jumped on the coffee table, waving his arms and screeched like a bird. Dr. Ned stood smugly in the doorway with his arms folded.

Willie had just been sprung from an extended lockup in the padded palace and stood dumbfounded in the middle of the room as two, three, no four orderlies were required to subdue the overwrought woman. Behind him two nurses whispered.

"Did you hear what happened?"

"No. Tell."

"Jackie was scheduled for a sex-change operation, and now her psychiatrist has cancelled the procedure—said a staff member here advised that she was mentally unbalanced and no longer a suitable candidate."

Jackie got booty juiced with a sedative while struggling on the floor.

"I read that transsexuals have a 50 percent suicide rate. Do you really think a mental patient should get a sex op?"

"I do if this is the alternative."

Willie watched in dismay as the attendants carried off his roommate.

* * *

For days after that, there was no sign of Jacqueline. "Everything's fine," the nurses would uniformly respond when Willie broached the subject. Finally, he asked the grief counselor if Jackie was dead.

"Of course not. Everything's fine," Dr. Lynne replied. "Jackie needs some time to sort out her feelings, that's all."

He retired that evening to discover his friend back in their room, secured to the bed in a straightjacket. Her heavy lidded eyes indicated she was still heavily sedated.

"I'm awful sorry," was all Willie could think of to say. "I shoulda warned you that Dr. Ned was an asshole, but I never thought he'd...If you don't wanna talk, I'll shuddup."

There was no response as the boy removed a clean T-shirt from his drawer, dipped part of it into a Styrofoam water cup and proceeded to wipe the woman's tear-streaked face.

"Your makeup needs to get fixed, girlfriend," Willie continued with a forced smile. "You got more messy black stuff under your eyes than Alice Cooper…Shit, I think I just made it worse. How do ya clean this off?"

"Don' 'member." She replied with slurred syllables.

"Never mind, We'll ask Nurse Sharon. I bet she'll know."

"Feels nice."

"Good. Sorry I don't have a washcloth." He dried with the other side of the shirt and then gently brushed the woman's hair away from her face and across the pillow in a dark halo.

"You got shock treatment, didn't you. They do that to me too, all the time, like it's gonna cure all your problems. I guess, after a while, it makes ya forget what they were."

"Stopped my hormone pills an' 'jections. Wha'm I goin' do? Fourteen years of therapy, prep op'rations, money…" Jackie began to cry.

"Do you know what your meds are called? I could break into the cabinet."

Jackie shook her head in despair.

Willie stared with curiosity at the stained shirt, which bore an impressionistic representation of his roommate's countenance.

"Hey, look." He held it up for Jackie to see. "You left a Jesus face on my shirt. Let's put it on the door to scare Roberta. Oh, and this." He pulled Sabrina's head from his dresser drawer. We're gonna hang this up as a warnin' to other evil, doctor-fakin' therapists."

* * *

In the weeks following, Jacqueline, because of the drugs or the depression, withdrew from reality, but Willie devoted himself to her care. He made her bed in the morning, spoon fed her at mealtime and wheeled her to all the sessions but one. During Group Therapy Jackie was deposited in the TV Room and her roomie went alone. But it was no big deal; Willie was consistently thrown out within the first five minutes and spent the remainder sitting on the steps with a pilfered paperback from his back pocket.

The exchange between Willie and Dr. Ned varied little from day to day.

"Your effeminate friend isn't so outspoken anymore, I see. Good thing he has such a conscientious caregiver as yourself. Tell me, what does his _husband_ think of that? You know, the one we've never seen. He does exist, I hope."

"Shut up about Jackie, you dickhead. I'm the one who killed your toy girlfriend."

"Go sit on the steps."

Willie walked his friend around the Common Room for exercise and enlisted the aid of Nurse Sharon and others to apply and remove her makeup every day. He read to her in the evenings or they watched TV. Jackie never spoke but would occasionally groan and exhibit signs of distress. In response, Willie would hold her hand, and that seemed to have a calming effect.

At length, the woman recovered her ability to function independently and reacted to surroundings. One morning, as Willie brushed out her long, highlighted hair, she spoke.

"I have always been dependent upon the kindness of strangers."

"I'm not a stranger. Fuck you."

Jackie smiled for the first time in forever.

* * *

Shortly before bedtime, Jacqueline and Willie were in the Art Therapy Room, where the young man was painting his friend's nails, just like he did once for his little half-sister one Thanksgiving. Only this large lady had large hands to match, and long, formidable nails. After a base of Pink Perfection, Willie went to town creating designs on top with Passionate Purple. There were hearts and crescent moons, diamonds, stars and swirls. He always was good with a little brush and detail work. As Jackie hummed a show tune about being pretty and witty, she glanced up to see Leroi when he approached the pair.

"Looks good," the aide commented.

"So do you, handsome," Tranny Jack smiled flirtatiously. "Did my husband call today?"

"I don't think so, but tomorrow—"

"—is another day."

"Sorry, but I have to steal your artist away. Dr. Gordon wants to see him."

"What for?" Willie didn't look up, absorbed by his task.

"I don't know. How about if you just come along and find out."

Willie paused outside the doctor's office when he heard heated voices within. He looked anxiously at his attendant. "I didn't do nothing, I swear."

"Stay cool. It's okay." Leroi reached past him to knock on the door and usher his charge inside.

"You can't just march in here after two and a half years and wave that paper in my face," Dr. Gordon fumed at the visitors.

"I can and I will. My husband pays his bill and the boy is my patient."

"Have you done even one follow-up on his case? Ever asked to see a progress report? He is nowhere near ready to be discharged; it would be very ill advised at this time."

"I'll be the judge of that. Willie, look at me. Do you remember who I am?"

Willie cocked his head at the red-headed woman. "Sure. You're J-Julia, right? Your hair's different."

Beside her was a tall gentleman. "And what is my name?" he asked.

Willie's eyes fixated on the walking stick he carried. "B-Barnabas." His heart was thumping in his chest.

"That's correct. You must leave now and gather your belongings. Julia and I have come to bring you home—back to the Old House."

The young man's lip trembled as he shot a glance to Dr. Gordon. Why were they kicking him out?

"Did I do something wrong? I'm sorry."

"No, it's fine," Dr. Gordon assured him before returning his conversation back to Dr. Hoffman. "Does he look recovered to you? Honestly?"

"He may make more progress at home, away from an institutional setting. I'm afraid, Gordon, you have no say in the matter."

"This will come up at the next board meeting, where I will have a lot to say. Please reconsider what you're doing. This patient requires almost constant supervision. He is dangerous to himself and others. If you would just take a minute to look at his file—"

"He will have my undivided attention, I promise you," the doctor replied, ignoring the folder held out by her colleague. "Willie, go pack your suitcase now."

Leroi was waiting for him outside the office and escorted the young man to his dorm room. "Good for you, Psycho. I never thought I'd see the day."

"I'm kind of scared. I been here a long time."

"Don't worry; doctors know what they're doing, and you were never happy at this place."

"I guess."

Willie sat on the bed, anxiously eyeing the door as Leroi stashed his possessions into the duffle bag.

"Can I say goodbye to everyone?"

"They're giving out evening meds, so now's not a good time. I'll tell them for you."

"But, Nurse Jessie—"

"It's her night off." He patted the boy's back. "You're just going to have to come back and visit us, okay?"

"Okay." He nodded uncertainly. "Uh—tell Tranny Jack I'm sorry I didn't get to finish her nails."

"Sure will."

The Common Room was empty as he traveled through, save one lone woman, sitting stone-faced by a window. Willie approached her with a bewildered look.

"Mrs. S-Stoddard, is that you?" She wore a midnight blue velvet caftan and did not turn at the sound of his voice. "Hey, what are you doing here?"

"I'm going to die."

"Uh, okay. Sorry."

Willie shook his head as he continued on his path. Boy, sooner or later, everybody ends up at Wyndcliff.

Barnabas and Julia were waiting for him in the reception area, anxious to get going. The woman was holding a plastic bag which contained his previously confiscated possessions.

Willie, however, took a detour and ducked into Dr. Gordon's office. The administrator sat stiffly in his high back desk chair which faced away from the door.

"Doc?" There was no answer. Willie had a fleeting moment of panic as he rushed in and grabbed the man's shoulder.

"Sorry, I was lost in thought." Dr. Gordon stood and shook the patient's hand. "Good luck, son."

Willie took a deep breath. "I wanted to say thanks for taking care of me. You're a good doctor."

The young man walked back down the hall. Doc Gordon felt he was still crazy but certainly didn't try very hard to have him stay. Maybe Willie should have apologized for all the shit he pulled over the past few years. He walked into Jacqueline's outstretched hand.

"Where do you think you're going, cupcake?" she asked with deadpan sarcasm.

Her roommate hung his head. "Away. Home. They said I can't stay here no more. I'm sorry—"

Jackie took his face in her large hands, smiled sadly and kissed his forehead, then wiped off the magenta lipstick mark.

"If I leave, who'll take care of you?"

"Now don't worry about a thing. I am a strong, independent woman who happens to be fabulous. My husband and Fluffgirl are coming any day now to bring me home too. I'm going to make myself a new outfit because he'll want to celebrate." She swatted Willie's behind. "Go on, now. And don't do anything I wouldn't."

Willie dragged his duffle behind him into the gloomy parking lot, glancing briefly over his shoulder when someone abruptly killed the porch lights.

**End of Act II**


	23. There's No Place Like Home

**Chapter 23 – There's No Place Like Home**

**May 1985**

Willie huddled in the dark back seat of Julia's car, watching out the window. He seemed mesmerized by looming shadows of rocks and trees along the road to Collinsport as they raced by. The young man couldn't remember the last time he had been outside the gated security of Wyndcliff Sanitarium.

The boss and his wife sat silently in the front seat.

"Willie?" Julia suddenly spoke. She was watching him in the rearview mirror, her face illuminated by the dashboard. "How are you doing back there? Is everything alright?"

"Yes, ma'am," he answered quietly.

"Do you have your seatbelt on?"

"Yes, ma'am," he lied.

"Are you glad to be going home?"

"I guess so. It was just kind of sudden. I was waiting for you to come to see me for a long time, then after a while I kind of forgot."

"We were very busy, you know that. Many things have happened since you went away."

"You got a new car." He looked around. "It's nice."

"I couldn't very well drive that old pickup."

"M-my truck? Is it…?"

"I have no idea if it still runs or not."

Barnabas snorted. "It is decorating the rear garden like a monument of rusting rubbish."

* * *

"Well, what are you waiting for? Come in."

Willie stepped hesitantly over the threshold and stood, clutching his duffle bag, in the middle of the foyer. The Old House was so different from Wyndcliff. It was chilly and quiet and dark, even as Barnabas and Julia moved routinely from entrance to parlor, lighting candles as they went.

"Well, you're going to have a big day tomorrow," Dr. Hoffman addressed the servant with a friendly smile.

"I am?"

"Yes, of course," Barnabas answered, looking up from the candelabra. "It's about time you went back to work. There will be much for you to do."

"Okay."

"So get some rest," Julia said, producing a bottle of pills from her purse. "I forget what I prescribed for you at Wyndcliff, but this will do the trick." Then she recalled the boy's history of self-medication. "On second thought, I'll just give you one at a time."

Willie backed away slightly, shaking his head. They looked like the zombie pills. "That's okay, I don't need any; never got meds at bedtime," he lied, starting up the staircase.

"One more thing," Julia called after. "Pick yourself out a bedroom on the second floor. It's so much nicer there, and close to everything. The third-floor servants' quarters have been closed off, since we have no use for them."

"Not our room of course," Barnabas chimed in from across the parlor, "Nor Josette's, mother's or father's. I suppose you may have the green guest room."

When Willie reached the top of the stairs, it was too dark to see anything but a shimmer of misty moonlight through the archway window. The young man sat on the top step, hugging his duffle as Julia and Barnabas talked below, and he overheard some of their conversation.

Willie was more docile now, they remarked, and that would make him easier to handle. But how he would adjust to his new situation and cope with the duties that would be expected of him would remain to be seen.

At length, Dr. Hoffman paced into the foyer. "We'll begin tomorrow morning with—what's that?" She squinted at the dark figure lurking in the shadows of the landing. "Willie, is that you?" He didn't answer. "What on earth are you doing? Go to bed."

"It's too dark. I can't see."

"For goodness sake, come here and get a candle." He slowly descended the stairs, whereupon Julia handed him a single taper in a small holder with ring handle. "And take some wood for your fire. Don't you want to be warm?"

"Yes, ma'am."

With a Duraflame log tucked under his arm, Willie went back upstairs holding his candle in front to light the way.

Even by the meager illumination, the cobweb covered hallway was in obvious need of maintenance and repair. No wonder they closed off the third floor; Barnabas and Julia were terrible housekeepers. The railing was loose, and nothing had been dusted in ages. The sconces were empty, so the servant was forced to make do with what little light he had.

But the candle's range was not far reaching and the blackness that lay beyond exacerbated Willie's fear of the dark. His anxiety compounded at the row of closed doors, behind any one of which could be danger or death. With a trembling hand, he reached for a knob.

The first door gave way to a large room with an elaborate canopy bed, next to which stood a mahogany coffin. The tall windows had been left open and a damp fog was rolling in, almost obscuring the floor. He closed the door. The next bedroom he didn't recognize, but the window was broken and the beamed ceiling housed a colony of bats. Then there was Josette's room, which stirred a flood of memories, so he quickly moved on. Light and buzzing sounds emanated from beneath the door of Aunt Abigail's room turned laboratory: skip that. The nursery looked sad and neglected. The wooden rocking horse lay on its side, the dollhouse was covered in a sheet and the toy box sat unused. Sarah used to always leave her things scattered about for Willie to put away, but the little ghost was nowhere to be found.

At the end of the corridor was a comparably modest, unremarkable room, which may or may not have been decorated in green.

The eyes of a wild animal glowed in the darkness as Willie gave a yell and backed away into the hall. He almost went backwards over the loose rail, but caught himself, turned and grasped the broken banister. Below, the talking abruptly halted.

"What's going on up there?" Barnabas bellowed.

"Nothing! I'm okay!" Willie picked up the candle from the floor and cautiously re-entered the room.

Mounted on the wall was the head of a large wolf, fangs bared and glass eyes which glowed in the candlelight. _Thank you, Barnabas, for putting me in a room that comes with its own nightmares._ Willie poked the nose of the stuffed creature.

"Fuck you, Fido. You're coming down first thing in the morning."

The servant brushed away cobwebs spanning the fireplace and opened the flue before throwing his log onto the grate and, with the flame of his candle, set it ablaze. He retrieved his duffle from the hallway and looked around his new quarters. Howling wind rustled the musty drapes through cracks in the window frame. The flames threw dancing shadows on the wall.

Willie pulled the dust sheet from the bed and climbed under the coverlet, still dressed. When he tried to pull it up, the blanket disintegrated in his hands. The bed curtains crowning the canopy obliterated too much light. The pillow smelled questionable. Just then the young man had a flashback memory, something about bugs in the mattress, and scrambled from the bed.

With his terrycloth robe for a blanket, and his hoodie for a pillow, Willie settled down in front of fire, wrapping his arms around just like he was wearing a straightjacket.

Hours later, as the fire and candle lay dying in their berths, Willie awoke disoriented and confused. He had been playing poker with Jackie, Angela and Stanley, laughing, eating M&amp;Ms out of pill dispensary cups, using condoms for betting chips. Bug Eyes circled behind them, peeking at the cards and signaling his advice.

Something eclipsed the light. He could feel its breath. A dark silhouette hovered over him.

"Was'matter?" he asked drowsily.

Barnabas swiftly rose and stepped away. "I merely brought a fresh candle and log for your fire."

The young man rubbed his eyes. "I woke up and forgot where I was."

The vampire seemed preoccupied with brushing lint from his jacket. "Go back to sleep. I will see you this evening."

"Goodnight, Barnabas."

Willie couldn't recall any time in the past when the boss expressed concern about his relative comfort, but he shrugged it off as another lapse in memory.

It was well after sunrise when Willie woke again. Outside his window, a foggy mist rose from the cliffs. Summer was approaching, or the Maine version of it. There were four seasons in Collinsport: clammy, chilly, cold and frozen.

It was deadly quiet. There were no doors banging, chairs clanging or crazies howling for attention.

Bug Eyes used to pop his head in their room. "It's the big one! Grab your helmets; this is not a drill!"

Followed by Angela: "Hurry up, you freaks. Free blow jobs before breakfast!"

Then Roberta would sing her prayers to the greater glory of God. She actually had a lovely voice when she wasn't screaming at sinners.

No more standing in loony queues at mealtime or med time. No more monitors watching him use the bathroom. All of a sudden Willie was free to do whatever he liked.

The young man looked out his window to the garden below where his truck sat forlorn and abandoned. There were weeds growing from the rear bed. Pulling on his sneakers, Willie wandered out the rear servants' entrance.

His white truck was now gray. The tires were sunk in dried mud and the inside smelled of mildew. He climbed in, felt the vinyl upholstery and looked in the glove compartment, where he found the keys. Willie turned the ignition, but the battery was dead.

"Where do you think you're going?" Julia snapped, swinging open the driver's side door.

"Nothing! Nowhere…" Willie jumped at her sudden appearance. "I-I just wanted to sit in my truck."

"Barnabas ordered you not to leave the house."

"No, he didn't."

"Come back inside before someone sees you." She yanked Willie from the cab.

"Why?"

"Never mind. I brought you breakfast."

The doctor led Willie inside to the kitchen and unloaded a paper bag containing a banana, hard-boiled egg and a bagel. "I took a few things from Collinwood but after this you'll be able to manage on your own."

"Okay." Julia paced the room as Willie sat alone at the large wooden work table and tucked in. He noticed for the first time how exhausted she looked.

"Well, where shall I start? There is a woman, Mrs. Strickland, who comes in once, sometimes twice a week. She will clean the first floor and do your grocery shopping. If you want something in particular, leave her a note on Monday; it will be delivered on Thursday. Try not to speak to her more than necessary. The less she knows, the better. You must _never_ leave her alone in the house and under no circumstances is she to go upstairs. Now, you will be in charge of the second floor, and everything you need will be there. Do you understand so far?"

"I guess so."

"Hurry up and finish." She patted his back with an unconvincing smile. "I have a lot to show you."

Willie hesitated outside the door to the laboratory, formerly known as Aunt Abigail's bedroom.

"What's the matter?" Julia asked impatiently. "Come along."

"The thing, is it still in there?"

Dr. Hoffman pushed Willie through the door, but what he saw was not the pile of pulsating organs he remembered. On the examination table was a grotesquely oversized human body, stitched together, breathing.

"Oh, shit, it's alive."

Julia blocked his exit. "Yes, it's alive, but don't worry, it's not conscious. It can't hurt you."

"I want to go home."

"Don't be ridiculous. Wyndcliff is not your home, this is, and there's nothing to be afraid of." She sat him down by the writing desk. "We talked about this long ago, creating a blood supply for Barnabas; do you remember?" The boy nodded, peering over her shoulder at the sleeping monster. "Now all you have to do is help me to take care of it."

"I don't know how."

"It's quite simple, really." Dr. Hoffman explained. "There are just a few things you need to manage: Nutrition, waste and blood. Everything is clearly marked.

At this point Julia proceeded to describe how the one green bottle and two clear ones contained the stuff that went in and, attached to its midsection was a brown bag and an almost clear one for output. Red bags were the payload. Willie was instructed how to hook up the intravenous tubes to the needles, dispose of the waste bags and store the blood.

"What if I get them mixed up?"

"You will have to stay focused. So, no drinking or drugs for you, especially sleeping pills." Willie's left leg started to bounce. "I know you can do this. You're a lot smarter than you pretend to be."

"At Wyndcliff they let me work in the library. Made it easy to steal books. I put most of them back…"

"What did I just say about focus?"

"Yes, ma'am. Sorry."

"You have your own room but can sleep here in the lab as well," Dr. Hoffman continued, pointing to Abigail's four poster bed. "As you can see the drips and bags must be closely monitored and changed consistently."

Willie frowned at the doctor. "Is this why you brought me back here?"

Julia sat on the edge of the desk and grasped the boy's hand. "Willie, please, this is a very responsible position. I can't do it all myself any longer and there's no one else I trust." She put her arm around his shoulder. "I trust you, Willie. Barnabas trusts you."

Willie did not like to be hugged by skinny witch doctors and the uncharacteristic emotion in her voice made him uncomfortable.

"Alright." He pulled away, realizing there was little alternative. He had no other job, no other home but this, no other family but a mad scientist and a vampire.

"We've tried to make you as comfortable as possible. See, there's new bed linens, also a small refrigerator, space heater and microwave, all hooked up to the generator.

"Microwave?"

"I'll explain how it works. Hopefully you won't be too bored and I'll step in for a few hours each day so you can have a rest. You may take books from the library downstairs or listen to music on this radio/cassette player; they call it a _boom_ box, but I don't want you to take the name literally."

"I wish there was a television."

"We'll see." The servant was silent. "I went to a lot of trouble to arrange all this. You could show a little appreciation."

"Thank you," he said quietly.

"Do you have any questions so far?"

Willie looked at the body. "What's his name?"

"Name? It doesn't really have one."

"How about Frankenstein?"

"I'd rather not. You know, it's the first of its kind—why don't we call it Adam?"

Willie sat down next to what would be his constant companion for a very long time. Its name was Adam.


	24. Doctor's Orders

**July 1984**

Weeks passed. Willie watched over the creature who seemed to be a medically induced coma. The lab assistant learned how to check its vital signs and record them on a chart. He washed the body with antiseptic wet wipes and rotated its arms, legs and body to increase circulation. When hair grew in around the stitches on its scalp and face, Willie was given an electric razor to shave the creature and himself. For some reason, he never got his straight edge razor back.

In his spare time, Willie got to clean the rest of the laboratory and second floor.

Eventually he acquired a portable television set, but the reception was sporadic on both that and the radio. There was only one cassette, some music by Mozart, and Willie quickly tired of it.

Dr. Hoffman now had a computer on her desk, which her helper was permitted to play around with occasionally. It had a crude game of ping pong.

* * *

Julia entered the room carrying a paper bag. "Your supplies have been delivered. Look, here's some…Willie?" The young man was nowhere in sight. "Where are you?"

There was a rhythmic dull thud coming from beside the armoire. She found her lab assistant sitting on the floor, banging his head against the wall.

"I assume that's supposed to get my attention. You'll have to come up with something more creative than that. Put away your groceries."

"This job sucks."

"You spent more than two years in a straightjacket. I would think this is a slight improvement."

"I want…I want…" It obviously didn't matter what he wanted. Willie resumed his activity.

"I'm sorry if you're bored," Julia sighed as she absent-mindedly fingered through the mail on her desk. "Here." She held out an envelope. "You may take this over to Collinwood. It was delivered here by mistake."

"What for? Aren't you going there yourself later for a nice dinner with real food?"

"Yes, but apparently you need to be entertained. So, go for a walk. Take it to the back door, don't speak to anyone except Mrs. Pratt, the housekeeper, and come right back. I'll keep an eye on our friend."

Willie rose to his feet. It was bad enough that there was no one else to talk to, but the bitch couldn't even be bothered to look up and acknowledge him. The young man stalked over and slammed his hand on the wall, inches from the good doctor's face. She didn't flinch.

"Why, Julia? Why can't anybody know I'm here? I didn't do nothing wrong."

"Because I don't want anything to draw attention to our project, or risk your making a careless comment in conversation, as you have frequently been known to do."

"It's not fair. I do everything you say and it don't make any difference."

"Go on, before I change my mind." He snatched the letter and raced down the stairs.

Willie slowed down and strolled through the woods at a more casual pace to prolong his furlough. It had always been pretty lonely at the Old House, except for that brief time when Maggie was prisoner there, but he was never forbidden to leave the house that he could recall. He used to do odd jobs for Mrs. Johnson at Collinwood in exchange for laundry and bathroom privileges, with a hot meal thrown in twice a week. Maybe he could strike a sweet deal like that with the new housekeeper. Julia couldn't object when her assistant's morale and productivity would be greatly improved with regular hot showers and clean clothes, rather than feeble attempts to maintain himself with cold water from the kitchen hand pump.

Willie rapped the big, brass knocker on the front door before remembering he was supposed to use the delivery entrance. He started to head around back when the heavy oak door swung open.

"Yes? May I help you?"

In the doorway was a beautiful brunette woman wearing a hostess gown in a jarring combination of colors. She smiled flirtatiously at the confused young man.

"S-sorry, I was supposed to—are you Mrs. Pratt?"

The lady threw back her head and laughed. "Hardly! I am Mrs. Roger Collins. And you are?"

"Uh, Willie. I work over at the Old House."

Mrs. Collins' enormous green eyes lit up as she opened the door farther. "Please, come in."

"That's okay—"

"I said come in." She sounded like someone who was used to being obeyed. Willie stepped hesitantly over the threshold and the woman guided him into the drawing room. This was not good. If Jolly Roger or Mrs. Stoddard discovered him there, the boss would hear about it.

"May I get you a drink?"

"Sure." The delivery man grinned.

"Have a seat and chat with me for a while." She looked at him, pouting. "I'm afraid I don't get much company in this big empty house."

Willie shook his head. "Me neither."

"So you work for the mysterious Mr. Collins. You must tell me all about him, since I haven't had much chance to get acquainted." Her visitor shrugged. "I wasn't even aware that they had servants. Have you been with Barnabas long?"

"Oh yeah, ever since he came to town, but I been away for a while."

"What does he do?"

"Anything he wants. Oh, you mean a job? Beats me, he don't talk business with me. I just clean up and fix things. I did all the plumbing at that place, you know. But Julia, now she's a doctor. You should ask her about Barnabas when she comes over for dinner."

"Yes, of course she'll be joining us again this evening." She smiled politely.

"I guess. I don't see her too much either, except when she takes over so I can get a break."

"Takes over what?" the lady asked with innocent curiosity.

Willie opened his mouth to reply, then closed it again. _Oh shit_. "Uh, excuse me, I have to deliver this letter 'round back."

"I can take it."

Willie slid from his seat and backed away toward the door.

"Uh, no, sorry, ma'am, but I got direct orders."

"Why are you so nervous?" Mrs. Collins approached him with a lilting laugh. "I don't bite."

"Sorry."

Willie ran out the door. Maybe that didn't look too obvious. Okay, it did, but it wasn't his fault; he was completely distracted by that lady's crazy dress, and her voice, and those eyes…

The servant sprinted to the rear entrance and pounded on the door, panting. Mrs. Pratt responded and looked askance at the scruffy young man.

"No handouts for you, get along. We can't have tramps camping out in the backyard."

"No, ma'am," Willie explained quickly. "I work at the Old House for Barnabas Collins. Here's a letter we got by mistake." The woman reached out reluctantly then grabbed the envelope away from him. "I was wondering if you need any work done. I can cut wood and other things, whatever you want. The lady who was here before you used to let me use the shower and—"

Mrs. Pratt closed the door in his face.

Fuming, Willie stomped back to the Old House. That stupid old lady had no right to call him a tramp. He hadn't eaten out of a trash can for a long time.

"This is bullshit. There's got to be some rules around here besides yours," the young man announced as he reentered the laboratory. "I'm a person and I got rights, dammit. You can't make me stay here all the time."

"You are mentally ill and discharged into my care. I have to know that you're safe."

Willie's first instinct was to punch a hole in the wall, or punch Dr. Hoffman. Rip those stupid tubes out of monster boy and flip the table. Instead, the disgruntled man turned and stalked out the door. He was half way down the stairs when Julia called after him.

"Alright, Willie, what is it you want?"

He stopped in his tracks but did not turn. What he said wasn't true at all. He had no rights; he belonged to a vampire who told him so. All she had to do was blab to Barnabas and the master would kill him, just like he always threatened to do. Willie sat on the steps and buried his face in his hands, mustering the strength to stay in control of his emotions. Julia descended as well and sat next to him, patting the boy's shoulder.

"We can't have you so unhappy. What can I do to help?" She looked concerned and motherly, but Willie regarded her with skepticism. Turning away, he picked at the bannister's peeling paint.

"I want to go into town and just walk around, get a hot shower at the YMCA, take my clothes to the Laundromat. I want to buy a hamburger and beer. And—and if this is such an important job, I-I should get paid."

"Very well." The lab assistant's head shot up in surprise. "I'll give you twenty dollars a day for your work. $100 a week is a lot of money, so I expect you to open a savings account and not squander it at the Blue Whale."

Willie did some quick figuring in his head. "That's only five days. You mean I get off for weekends?"

"Of course not. You'll work the other two days to pay for your room and board." Dr. Hoffman continued down the stairs and retrieved her purse from the foyer table. "Go now." She handed him three $10 bills. "That will have to do for now. I expect you back in one hour, and under no circumstances are you to go anywhere near Maggie Evans' house."

"Why not?"

Julia sighed. "Because she will call the police and you will go back to a mental institution. And not a luxury resort like Wyndcliff, because Barnabas will not pay those bills again. You will go to a state asylum and spend the rest of your days strapped to a cot lying in your own waste." She folded her arms. "Is that a good enough reason?" The young man didn't answer. "You now have 58 minutes."

Willie bolted out the door, stopped, turned and reentered the house.

"Dr. Hoffman? Can I borrow your car please?"

* * *

Willie knew how to shower up in minutes flat, so there was plenty of time left over for a few more errands. He popped into the Blue Whale for a quick couple of shots and a free lunch of peanuts and pretzels.

"Tell 'em Willie boy is here." The young man slammed a dollar on the bar. "Double hit of rum, my good man!"

"Would you like to order some food?" the pretty blonde barmaid suggested as she refilled the snack dishes on the bar.

"Don't have time today." The customer did a double take. "You're not Bob."

"Yes, I know. I'm his daughter, Crystal."

"Is Bob dead?"

"Why, no." She looked at the patron uncertainly. "He's in the store room. I'm just helping out while I'm home from college."

"Let me guess; I used to be good at this. Liberal Arts major, right?" The woman shook her head. "Business and Marketing?"

"Veterinary Science and Animal Husbandry." Willie almost spit out his drink. "Yes, please," she continued sardonically. "Tell me a joke about it I haven't already heard."

"I'm sorry, no, that sounds fascinating. I want to come back sometime and hear about your, uh, animal research. Maybe over a drink."

"Maybe." The girl refilled his glass."Where did you graduate from?"

"Oh, I studied psychiatry at Wyndcliff."

"I've never heard of that school."

"It's a private institution."

* * *

Willie was slightly buzzed when he headed to the Evans' cottage, where he parked across the street and slid down in the seat. _Holy private eye spy_, this was a perfect plan, because no one would recognize the doctor's car and he could watch for Maggie to come out of the house. If she was alone and looked like she was in a good mood, maybe he would say hello.

After a few minutes, Willie dozed off.

"Loomis, what are you doing here?" Willie awoke when the driver's side door opened and he was dragged out by the collar. "I thought they locked you up and threw away the key."

It was Joe Haskell. The handsome and usually polite young man was not exhibiting his pleasant side at that moment. He glanced cautiously at the cottage and, seeing that the disturbance hadn't attracted any attention thus far, continued. "Listen, you lunatic, stay away from Maggie. I'm warning you."

"It's a free country. I can sit in a car if I want to."

"You think you can do or say whatever you want and get away with it, just like you tricked Maggie into marrying you by getting her pregnant."

"I didn't trick nobody. Maggie is an adult."

"She only agreed to go out with you only because you told her I was gay."

"So what?" Willie shrugged.

"That was a damn lie! You don't care whose reputation you wreck, or lives you ruin." Haskell was becoming increasingly infuriated.

"I didn't know you were so sensitive about it," the blond man calmly commented. "Maybe you should get professional help. There's nothing wrong with being gay."

"Say that one more time…" Joe prepared to swing a punch.

"Okay, okay," Willie backed off. "We don't want to get in a public brawl, do we? Because I'd have to cut that pretty face of yours, and Maggie wouldn't like that."

"Just…get out of here before I really lose my temper."

Willie was quick to jump back in the car. However, he hesitated before leaving and rolled down the window.

"Hey, no hard feelings, Haskell. I want to apologize."

"Alright," Joe responded begrudgingly.

"I'm sorry you don't like being gay." Willie hit the gas pedal and took off.


	25. The Vampire's Valet

**November 1985**

"Willie!"

The young man stuck his head through the laboratory door.

"Barnabas?"

"In the bedroom."

Willie trotted down the hallway to his master's chamber. "Yessir?"

"Julia and I are going to Collinwood. Help me dress."

"Uh, okay." The servant buttoned up the vampire's vest and attached cufflinks to his dress shirt. Of course Barnabas was perfectly capable of dressing himself, but Willie figured it was an aristocrat thing. Or maybe the boss was looking for an excuse to make conversation, as he sometimes did. The master sat in an upright velvet chair as Willie knelt on the floor to tie his shoelaces.

"There's a good lad," He patted Willie's head; the young man flinched but resisted the urge to pull away.

"Why do you always treat me like some kid? I'm 28 years old, almost 29."

"Are you really? I hadn't noticed. The passage of time means little to me."

"One of these days, you're going to yell _Willie_ and a crotchety old man will hobble in."

"I am sure you will retire before that on the tidy sum I have been coerced into paying you."

"Speaking of money…" he hesitated. "uh, I need some more." The master's smile inverted abruptly. "I want to get my truck fixed. Julia only gives me an hour to go into town but won't always loan me her car so I have to walk. By the time I get there it's time to come back again. So I called the shop to tow the pickup and they said it would cost $1,000 to do all the repairs."

"That's a great deal of money, boy—rather, young man. What does Polonius say?"

"_Neither a borrower nor a lender be. _But you'd get it back, a little each week. The garage won't let me pay it off on time because I don't have a credit card." Then Willie muttered to himself, "I used to have a lot of different credit cards."

"I will consider the matter based on your performance of duties over the next few days. Fetch the maroon tie." Willie smiled with the knowledge that it was Barnabas' way of saying yes and hastily procured the accessory to wrap it around the vampire's neck.

"Uh, I don't know how to fix these things. I never learned."

"Then we are not off to an alacritous start. In 28 years, you've never worn a necktie?"

"Well, yeah, at school, but that was a clip-on, and once for my wedding; Julia did it for me." The master proceeded to knot the tie himself. "I do have one, though. It's blue. Got it for a Christmas present."

"Bring it here."

"What for?"

"Don't question me. A proper valet must know how to dress his master, so I'm going to teach you."

"Right now?"

"Five minutes ago would have been better."

* * *

"Of course in my day we wore ruffled cravats so this is a skill I too recently acquired." Barnabas stood behind the young man and reached around his neck. In the full length mirror Willie saw himself alone and the tie moving by itself. However, he could feel the vampire at his back.

"Stop squirming and pay attention." Barnabas sniffed the other man's collar. "What is that scent you're wearing?"

"Laundry detergent. Uh, I ought to be checking in on the blood monster. Julia's going to get mad."

"Am I the master here or is Julia?"

_Brother, you don't want to know the real answer to that question._

Dr. Hoffman appeared in the doorway, arms folded.

"And what are you boys up to?" She flashed her plastic smile. "Is Willie joining us tonight?"

"Of course not." Barnabas turned his manservant around and held him at arm's length. "Let's see now. That is quite charming, much more mature and dignified." Willie looked away awkwardly. "'Tis pity it is so wrinkled. You must hang this in your wardrobe, because someday you will want to go somewhere special, and it will be at the ready."

Willie couldn't imagine where he would be going that would require such formal attire. Of course, Barnabas wore suits and ties just to hang around the house

"I cannot abide spending one more evening in the same room as that witch, Julia." Willie helped the vampire into his suit jacket and proceeded to utilize the clothes brush handed to him. "She's toying with me, like a cat with her captured prey."

Dr. Hoffman decided to change her earrings. "Cassandra won't dare make a move with Roger and everyone right there. When you let her get to you like this, she wins. You must try to ignore her."

"Hard to ignore those crazy eyes," Willie muttered as he hung up the master's dressing gown. He looked around to see the couple staring at him. "What?

"What do you know of Cassandra Collins?" Barnabas looked concerned.

"Nothing. I-I never met the lady. David told me about her when he came to visit me at Wyndcliff. He don't like her either."

"You must say nothing to Mrs. Collins, no matter how seemingly innocent, and never let her into this house."

"Yessir. Can I go now?" Barnabas waved his hand dismissively as the servant swiftly left the room.

* * *

"So before here I was at a luxury resort for loonies called Wyndcliff. They say I tried to kill myself but I don't remember much about that night, except it was Christmas. It must be true, though, there's all these scars on my arms to prove it. Of course, you got me beat in that contest; you look like a patchwork quilt."

Willie continued his one-sided conversation to the comatose creature as he attached a new IV drip.

"This one is so you don't get dehydrated. Anyway, it was probably 'cause Julia yelled at me that day, and Maggie asked for a divorce, and Barnabas, well, let's just say he got mad. But, if it weren't for him, you wouldn't even be here. That's who this blood is for, but he don't like them bags much. I can tell from the way he looks at me sometimes. Julia thinks it's because when live people get attacked, they get this surge of something called adrenalin and that probably gives the old man a rush. But she don't approve of that so he's not allowed to bite her, even though they're married. Seriously, I never saw such a pussy-whipped vampire. Hey, look, here's the new stuff I'm going to inject in this tube that's supposed to make your red-cell blood count climb faster.

"Before Wyndcliff I lived in a party palace with my wife, Maggie. We're divorced now. Boy, did I fuck up that big time. Now, you never met Maggie but take it from me, she is just about the prettiest girl in the world. It's a wonder she ever went out with me, and I'll tell you something else."

"She gets very horny when she's drunk," he whispered in the monster's ear.

"So Sam said Maggie and me had to get married because she was having a baby but I went bat-shit crazy and scared her off. I think I'm all cured now, then again, maybe not—here I am telling you all this stuff and you don't hear one damn thing I say. You're just a big, blood-pumping vegetable, just like the zombies in Ward C. But I figure what the hell, 'cause Stanley used to talk to me when I was a zombie, and that may be how I got better.

"Do you get tired of this same food every day, or can you even taste it? I guess not if it goes right into your stomach. Looks like spinach water because it's full of iron to make you strong like Popeye.

"Just between you and me, Maggie's not the only looker in town. Miss Carolyn Stoddard, man, I thought she was a hot number from Day One. And that pretty new bartender. And Nurse Jessie, I am seriously in love with her; she has such a sweet stack. I used to cry whenever she came in the room just so she would hug me. You'd be surprised what you can get out of women by crying.

"You know, since I'm not a patient there anymore, Jessie might go out with me; do you think? I sure would like to go see her—and say hi to the other guys too; I miss them a lot, didn't even get to say goodbye or nothing. Well, Stanley's not there anymore; he went home to be a dentist again, but there's Bug Eyes, Roberta, Wendy, Moira, Angela and Tranny Jack. And Gene was my favorite therapist. He's the one who got me to talk good again and pronounce all my words, just like Barnabas the aristocrat."

The lab assistant dumped a bag of brown liquid into the waste container.

"Shit, it won't work; Wyndcliff is too far away and I can't leave the _baby_ alone." Willie considered the matter for a moment. "Unless…what if I turned down the knobs, that would slow down the drips? Then they would last longer and the other bags wouldn't fill up as fast, right? Then I could run over there and come right back. Makes sense to me, as long as Julia don't find out." He smiled. "You won't tell, will you?"

Willie labeled the red bag and placed it in the corresponding compartment in the fridge.

"Yes, yes, I'll read to you some more. Let me finish my job here first, will you? What do you want to hear tonight? Not _Hamlet_ again! That always makes you sad at the end when he says _The rest is silence_. Wait, I have a surprise." He pulled a large library book from the armoire. "This is by a guy named Stephen King, who lives over in Bangor. He knows people a lot like us."


	26. Mightier than the Sword

Willie usually got a few hours of uninterrupted sleep in his own room late in the morning, and Julia took a long nap in the afternoon, so the lab assistant took off as soon as she went down and the coast was clear. The _IN _bottles were full and turned to low. The _OUT_ bags were empty. He wore a plaid button-down shirt and the Prussian blue tie. Allowing forty-five minutes each way travel time would afford the visitor more than an hour to square away business with his girlfriend and have a brief reunion with old pals. Nicole smiled up at him from the reception desk.

"Yes, sir, may I…oh my god, Willie Loomis, is that you?" The young man grinned back at her, adjusting his tie. "Why, don't you look nice. Visiting hour isn't for a while yet."

"That's okay, I'll wait." He took off through the Common Room.

"No, sir—I mean, Willie! You can't go in there!"

While the orderlies were breaking up a screaming match between Roberta and herself, Willie slipped past and down the hall where he discovered Nurse Jessica wheeling the meds cart. He jumped in her path, causing the woman to let out a small scream.

"Hi, don't be scared, it's just me, Willie Loomis."

"Oh dear, Willie, you're not a resident anymore, so you can't go past the reception area."

"I know but I'm too early and there's not much time and I had to see you," he rambled, watching for a guard to appear and give him the boot. "I have to ask you something very important. Will you go out with me on a date? I really like you a lot and it's okay because I'm not crazy anymore."

"I like you too, but no, Willie. I'm sorry."

"Why not? Is it the money, because I'm flush—"

"I'm married," the nurse interrupted with an apologetic smile. "I have two little boys."

"But you ain't got a ring or nothing, 'cause I checked."

"We're not allowed to wear any jewelry in the ward."

"We're also not allowed to entertain guests in the hallway, Nurse." Dr. Ned was standing in the doorway to his office, arms folded.

"Yes, sir, I know," Jessie was flustered. "I was about to escort this visitor to Reception but I couldn't leave my cart."

"Then you walkie for assistance. I'll have to write you up for this."

"Hey, don't be a dick," Willie interjected. "It wasn't her fault."

"Mr. Loomis, I never realized how much I appreciated your absence until you returned. Come with me."

Willie bared his teeth and growled, causing the doctor to back into his doorway.

"I know the way out." The former patient kissed Jessica on the cheek and ran off.

Willie slipped into the TV Room and plopped on the sofa next to Bug Eyes. After a short silence, the loony looked sideways at him with suspicion.

"Have we met—before?"

"It's me, Psycho," the visitor laughed. "I completed the mission you gave me."

"But you're not here. You were discharged."

"That was in the future," the agent explained. "Now I've traveled back in time to report to you that it was a complete success, or will be." He shook hands with his former commander. "And to warn you: Dr. Ned is an alien spy. He must be taken out or the entire plan will be in big jeopardy."

"Roger that." Bugs Eyes made a note on his pad.

Psycho borrowed a sheet from the yellow pad and scribbled a message. He saluted just as Leroi and Vinny came to escort the young man to where he belonged.

"Just can't stay away, can you?" Leroi smiled. "Did you come for a visit? Let's go sit in the outer room with the other normal people."

"Sure." He slipped the note to Roberta and patted her head as they passed.

_Dear Soldier of the Lord,  
Dr. Ned has been possessed by Satan himself. I trust you to handle the situation and take no prisoners.  
Love, God._

Willie parked himself in the chair by the end table.

"I want to see Tranny Jack. Will you get her for me? I'll stay right here and won't move. Promise."

Willie didn't recognize his friend when Jackie was wheeled in. She wore shapeless slacks, a man's polo shirt and no makeup. Her hair was cropped short, and thick eyebrows had grown in along with a few days' worth of facial hair.

"J-Jackie, what happened to you? Is this because they took your pills away?"

"Der Ned…tol'…" The woman was too drugged to speak coherently. "Sed'ives. S'ock ther'py. I t'ied to han' myself."

"I'm going to stab that guy someday. Want to help?"

She raised her heavy-lidded eyes. "Kill me. If you're m' f'iend you'll pu' a bulle' in my head."

"Now that's the drugs talking. You are a strong woman, the most self-confident person I ever met; you can't let them bastards win, you got to fight back." He sat with Jackie for a long while the patient dozed and drooled. Willie held her hand, speaking softly in his companion's ear, lest they be overheard. "I got some important friends, you know, in high places. My boss has supernatural powers, plus he's very rich and his wife is a famous doctor psychiatrist. I'll tell them what happened and they'll fix it, okay?"

"I think Jack needs to rest now," Vinnie was standing nearby to wheel the patient away. "Why don't you come back and see her another day when she's feeling better?"

"You guys got it back-asswards," Willie snapped as he stood to leave. "People come in here normal and you make them crazy."

* * *

"Four hours!" Julia smacked him across the face so fast Willie didn't know what hit him. "You left it unattended for four hours. You selfish, brainless fool, it almost died!"

"It took longer than—I'm sorry—It was just that—"

"You're going to be _very_ sorry when Barnabas wakes up." The servant had never seen Julia so angry before. It was usually she who stopped the vampire from hurting or yelling at him. "Of course today's blood is now thoroughly contaminated because the bags leaked all over the floor. Go to the lab and wipe up that mess; then stay in your room."

"Now's not a good time to ask for a favor, is it?"

The doctor tried to slap him again but the young man saw it coming and ducked, running up the stairs two at a time.

Willie mopped and scrubbed the lab and made sure all the bags and bottles were functioning properly. He cleaned up Adam and replaced his hospital gown with a new one. The creature didn't look any different to him. Julia must have been exaggerating.

"Sorry, big fellow, I won't do it again—won't get a chance." The lab assistant went to his green bedroom to chill.

It was almost dark, which meant Barnabas would rise soon and Julia would tell him to thrash the living shit out of Willie, or even kill him. But maybe not, because then the servant wouldn't be able to work, and his job was very important, as the good doctor constantly reminded him. Barnabas would probably just yell a lot. Willie's first thought was to scare the vampire away, so he took his mounted wolf head from the wall and hung it on the bedroom door, as a warning to other fanged creatures to stay away. He heard voices from downstairs.

"Well? Are you going to do something or not?"

"Dear God, woman, may I not have five minutes to myself?" Barnabas retorted irritably. There was a sound of newspaper hitting the floor. "What do you wish me to do? Tell me so I can enjoy a little peace for once."

"I want you to impress upon that boy the severity of this situation. If he is unreliable and can't follow orders—we have no further use for him."

There was a long pause.

"Very well."

Willie heard the master's footsteps on the stairs and ran back inside, looking for a place to hide. The wardrobe? No, too obvious. The servant ducked behind the draperies of one of the alcove windows.

"Willie!" He recognized that tone of voice and held his breath. "You had better be in here."

As Barnabas investigated first the armoire, then behind the curtains of the second window, Willie made a dash for the door. The vampire turned and grabbed him by the collar.

"You defied Dr. Hoffman's directives today."

Willie chuckled dismissively. "Come on, Julia just overreacted, that's all. You know women; they don't give you five minutes peace. She flipped out when I just wanted to see my friend—"

Barnabas backhanded the servant, leaving his usual souvenir, a cut on the cheekbone from his onyx ring.

"You belong to me, and may have acquaintances only at my discretion." He painfully gripped Willie's arm. "If you cause distress to my wife again or disobey a direct order, I will toss your broken and bloodless body from Widow's Hill."

Julia stood in the doorway, but the vampire shot a look in her direction and she silently retreated, closing the door behind her. Willie felt like he was in some sort of surreal, dreamlike state as something grasped his other arm. He must have imagined it, because a third hand gripped the back of his head and yet another turned his face to one side. He felt backed up to the wall, or pinned down or floating. The young man squeezed his eyes shut and tried to think of being somewhere else, but Barnabas could smell the fear and was irresistibly drawn to the cut on the mortal's face.

"You may have ruined that wretched bag of blood, but you will not deprive me of my dinner." The vampire licked the trickle of blood from Willie's cheek before greedily plunging his fangs into the young man's neck.

* * *

It had wrapped up as a rather unpleasant evening, for Willie at least, so he decided to forget it ever happened. Barnabas, however, had, once again, shed his disgruntled disposition and appeared chatty and content the following night, like nothing was amiss. Julia, her usual no-nonsense self, was still pissed and barely spoke to the young man. So Willie took his cue that the subject was not to be addressed and, he hoped, the incident not repeated.

His subconscious, however, was less cooperative and, a day later, the nightmare returned. It was the one in which he was being eaten alive by a silver wolf, only now there were two of them. Snarling, one tore the meat from his bones as the other lustfully lapped the blood that poured from his wounds. He awoke curled up in the corner of his bed, clutching the pillow, unsure if he had screamed in his sleep. It didn't matter, no one would have responded anyway.

Willie had his pay docked and was grounded for a week, but it was of little consequence. He was on a mission that consumed most of his concentration. Willie lugged the colossal dictionary and thesaurus from the library and, sitting at the desk next to his creature companion, composed a letter. He used the master's finest linen paper and Barnabas' handwriting, complete with swirly curls at the ends of words. He then proceeded to fulfill his promise to stab Dr. Ned—with a fountain pen.

_To the Board of Directors,  
Wyndcliff Sanitarium  
Dear Sirs and Madams, _

_It has come to my attention that a therapist named Ned Stuart has repeatedly engaged in conduct unbecoming of a staff member at your renowned institution. _

_My dear friend and colleague, William H. Loomis, has on numerous occasions witnessed his unprofessional tantrums and was even assaulted and strangled by the oaf. Dr. Ned records incorrect falsehoods in the files of clients. His actions are detrimental and deleterious to these poor insane people and everyone he works with. _

_I was particularly shocked to learn of the ongoing sexual relationship this Stuart fellow has been having with a girl in Ward B named Angela, who is a junkie. He bribes her with smack and other drugs and alcohol locked in his desk drawer along with a boatload of condoms and pornography. _

_Because of this man's dangerous advice, another patient named Jackie almost died and suffers now from post traumatic stress disorder. I demand that her case be reevaluated by a competent psychiatrist, namely my wife, Dr. Julia Hoffman. Her letter of recommendation will shortly follow. Jackie must restart her hormone therapy treatment immediately and resume plans for her sex operation. _

_As you know, me and several members of the prestigious Collins family are generous charitable contributors to your hospital. It would be a shame if that were to change. There is no need to reply to this letter. I trust in your fine judgment to see that justice is done. _

_Your obedient servant,  
Barnabas Collins_

_PS: This fellow also calls himself a doctor when he's not. I believe that is against the law, so you should probably have him arrested. _

* * *

The second letter would be more difficult. Willie would need to use some medical terminology for Jackie's letter of recommendation. He poured through the psychology texts on her bookshelf in hopes of finding some appropriate passages to borrow.

The lab assistant was perusing Dr. Hoffman's journal when she entered the lab, carrying a package. _Slanted to the right, elongated loops…_

"May I ask what you're doing?" She sounded only mildly mistrustful.

"I was just reading your notes, to learn more about this experiment. I think it'll help me do my job better…and I was admiring your handwriting."

"What is that envelope?"

"It's a letter to my mother," he answered respectfully. "I was hoping to mail it later, if that's okay with you."

"I thought you told me your mother passed away."

"No, I said she blew her brains out. I meant it's for my stepdad, but it's about my mom. Can I have a stamp from your drawer? Or two?"

"I'll post it for you."

"Please, doctor, Can I go into town? It's been seven days. I want to get a shower and a lobster roll sandwich and go to the library and the post office."

"You can't do all that in an hour."

"Sure I can. I won't ever be late again, I promise." He looked up at her with the big orphan eyes. "I'm awful sorry about what happened." Two tears fell down his cheeks. He wiped them away with his sleeve, after making sure she had noticed. "I didn't mean to do anything wrong. I know how important this is for Barnabas."

"Don't upset yourself." Julia patted his shoulder. "We're all on the same team, you know."

"Yes, ma'am," Willie sniffed. "So, can I go?"

"Very well. Speaking of your family, this package arrived from a Rick Harrison in New York_." _She dropped a box on the desk.

Willie opened the attached letter.

_Dear Bill, _

_I found this box with your name on it among your mother's things and thought you might like to have it. The children have not been doing well. They are plagued with bad dreams and I've had to take them out of school. We're going to sell the house and move to Wisconsin to be near my Aunt Jenny where I'm hoping the change will help in the healing process. _

_I'm glad we got to meet each other and am only sorry we couldn't have arranged to visit more frequently. Your mother loved you very much and spoke often of how proud she was of your success. I hope you and Maggie are doing well. It was good that you got the help you needed in time. _

_All the best,  
Rick_

Willie opened the worn-out cardboard box labeled _Big Bill_. Inside was a frayed blanket remnant and snapshots of the family from that Thanksgiving he spent with them. He and the children were goofing around for the camera; even the bulldog did rollovers on the floor. Everyone was laughing or making funny faces—except Lydia, but no one had noticed at the time.

Beneath were a collection of childhood treasures, including a one-legged GI Joe doll. His friend Denny had pulled it apart when they decided the soldier had stepped on a landmine. Afterwards the child had let Willie keep it since it was broken. There was some of his old comic books: Batman, Spiderman, and the Illustrated Classics: _American Revolution, The Hunchback of Notre Dame_, and _Frankenstein_. There was a dog-eared, hardcover book called _Peter Pan, _which would have been due back at the library in 1967, except that it had never been officially checked out. Finally, at the bottom, in a small white box, was a pair of sapphire and diamond earrings.


	27. Gods and Monsters

**February 1985**

"'_Tonight you shall have your proof. At first, I experimented only with dead animals. And then a human heart, which I kept beating for three weeks. But now, I'm going to turn that ray to that body, and endow it with life,'"_

Willie read aloud from the Illustrated Classics comic book, in the voice of Dr. Frankenstein.

"'_And you really believe that you can bring life to the dead?'"_ he continued in an old man's voice.

"'_That body is not dead. It has never lived. I created it. I made it with my own hands from the bodies I took from graves, from the gallows, anywhere!'"_

"'_The storm is approaching; It's time, master!'"_ his Igor impression cried with a cackle. Willie paused briefly to show the page which depicted the impending storm to his comatose companion. _"_It says:_ The mad doctor flings back a sheet to reveal his monstrous creation, causing the aged professor to recoil, horrified. _Then the old guy goes,_ 'In the name of God—'"_

"'_Now I know what it feels like to be God!'" _Willie interrupted himself._ "'Look. It's moving. It's alive... It's alive.'"_ His voice rose in a crescendo, progressively manic. _"'Oh, it's awake! IT'S ALIVE! IT'S ALIVE!'" _He tossed the book aside in his frenzy and noticed for the first time Adam's eyes were open and wandering around the room, frightened and unfocused.

"Holy shit," Willie mumbled. Stumbling backwards, he tripped on the desk chair, caught himself and fled from the room.

"Doc-tor Hoff-man!" the assistant yelled as he tore down the staircase. "Julie-ya! Come quick!" He ran into the cleaning lady at the foot of the stairs.

"Lands sake, what is that racket?" Mrs. Strickland snorted. "What's alive? Sounds more like somebody's dying up there."

"Nothing—it's nothing. Where's Dr. Hoffman?" Willie panted. "It's very important."

"Well, how should I know? You folks don't tell me your business. She made a phone call this morning and mentioned something about going shopping…"

Willie had already disappeared back up the steps. He slammed the bedroom/laboratory door behind him, and smiled hesitantly at the creature who stared back with equal apprehension.

"Hi, there," He said with an artificial calm and a pinched voice. "How's it going, big guy? So…uh, we're going to chill out for a bit until Julia gets back, okay?" Willie inched his way along the wall.

The monster attempted to lift his arms, but they were strapped to the table. He opened his mouth and although nothing came forth at first, what followed was an unearthly wail.

"Shhh! Don't do that! Stop it!" Willie attempted to shush his charge but the volume and intensity of its cries only increased. The lab assistant stuck his head out the door.

"Mr. Loomis?" The housekeeper was at the foot of the stairs. "Is everything alright?"

"Yes! That was the television. Sorry. Uh, don't come up." He slammed the door again, and addressed the hysterical creature. "Shut the fuck up, please! What do you want?" Willie scanned the room for something to drown out the noise and switched on the cassette player on his boom box, filling the air with Mozart's serenade.

Adam stopped sobbing.

"You like that? Yeah, that's music. Pretty, huh?" Willie slid into the chair near the examination table. "You just got to stay nice and quiet until Julia gets back, okay?" He wiped away the monster's tears with a tissue. "Look at that, crying just like a baby—big guy like you."

Willie forced a smile at the pathetic creature. After a moment it smiled back.

"Wait until Dr. Hoffman gets a load of you. She said you were never supposed to wake up, but these experiments of hers don't always work out like she plans." He nervously lit a cigarette. "I told her this was bad idea, I remember, I said what if you get sad or it hurts, but she just laughed like I was some kind of imbecile. That means…" Willie looked into the creation's searching eyes as they traced the smoke billowing above his head. "You don't understand anything I'm saying, do you? 'Course not." The young man shrugged. "Don't matter, nobody listens to me anyway."

Adam whimpered, again he tried to move his arms. "You settle down now, just take it easy until Dr. Julia gets back. She'll know what to do. 'Till then, ole' Willie'll take good care of you."

Willie picked his comic book up off the floor and continued to read aloud to his patient, only this time in a soft, soothing tone of voice which contradicted the text, but no matter. At length, Adam closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

That was not an appropriate story for a small child, or even an enormous one, Willie concluded. It must have scared him so much he woke up and cried. The servant decided to visit the public library at his earliest opportunity and check out something Adam would enjoy, with simple words and big, happy pictures. Rainbows and shit like that.

Then again, why bother? Julia would come home eventually and fix everything. She would stick something in blood boy's IV drip to put him back into that coma and all would be as it was before. But what if he wasn't really sleeping in that state? What if he was able to hear and feel everything but was unable to respond? Unhappy and frightened, maybe in terrible pain—would Julia care?

When she arrived home, Dr. Hoffman popped her head in the door.

"Mrs. Strickland said you were calling for me. Is everything alright?"

Willie looked up from his book. "Yeah, fine. I had a question: wanted to know if I could go into town. I'd like to visit the library."

"It's too late today and closed tomorrow. You may go on Monday if it doesn't take too long."

"I promise to be responsible and come right back."

Willie decided that Adam would be better off if Dr. Hoffman didn't know about him. She would find out eventually. Just not yet.

* * *

"Quasimodo was the ugliest guy in town. He was such a wreck, that little children would scream and ladies would faint if he just walked down the street. Once he got arrested and whipped in the public square just for grossing people out."

"Huub?" Adam strained to look.

"Nah, you don't want to see that picture, it's bad." Willie made a sour face as he turned the page. "Yuck!"

Adam made a sour face in response. "Uggk!"

"But, it's okay, because the hunchback was saved by a priest named Father Frollo who hid his monster boy way up in a tall tower of this church. It was a _sanctuary_, and when you're in one of them, no one can hurt you. Quasi did okay there for a while; he learned how to ring bells and talked to his friends, but they never answered him, 'cause they were nothing but stone statues."

Willie turned the comic book to show his companion the drawings on that page.

"Dauuuh."

"I know, you would think so, but it wasn't that sweet of a deal for the ugly dude. He'd get lonely stuffed away there all day long—until one day he was looking out the window and spotted this incredible, sexy gypsy girl with long, black hair. That's when Quasi got his first boner. Her name was—"

Julia Hoffman walked into the lab. "Did you say something?" She set down a paper bag of groceries, but an awkward motion from the slab made her head snap up. "The body just moved!" She rushed to its side.

"Oh…that." Willie shrugged with deliberate indifference. "Yeah, sometimes he squirms around a little."

"Dear Lord, It's conscious. Why didn't you say something?" Adam looked away in fear. "Willie, what is the matter with you!"

"Shhh, don't yell." He stroked the monster's head gently. "He don't know what you're saying, so you have to talk real soft."

"Or what?" The doctor peered into the patient's eyes with a penlight.

"I don't know; nothing. He just lays there and looks around sometimes. I-I'm not sure he even sees or hears anything."

"He can see alright. Watch his eyes follow my finger."

"Dr. Hoffman…what're you going to do?" Willie wondered with trepidation.

"I'm not sure." She walked away, deep in thought. "The body must be too large, or perhaps he's built up a tolerance to the anesthesia. When was the last time it had an EEG?"

"The brain wave thing? Beats me. That thing was sucking too much juice so I turned it off."

"The problem is I'm giving him a high level of pentobarbital as it is. If I increase the dosage, it might end up in his blood system, and that would…" she glanced at her assistant, chuckling at herself. "There's no point in discussing this with you. I'm sorry, go ahead and unpack your groceries."

_Just do your job, imbecile. _

Willie finished his chores in silence, but watched over his shoulder as Julia poured through her notes and medical journals before examining the body. Adam was quiet and still, eying the doctor with apprehension as she poked, prodded, stuck a stick in his mouth and a cold disk on his chest. Finally, she returned to her chair, leaned back and sighed.

"Willie, come over here." Her assistant complied. "You're certain that what I saw here is the extent of his brain activity?"

"Yeah, I guess so." The young man glanced across the room. "He's out already, look. He sleeps almost all the time, then opens his eyes for a few minutes and goes back to sleep."

"Well, I don't think that will present a problem for now, but you must alert me the moment that changes, understand?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Meanwhile I'm going to start working on putting together a cocktail of phenobarb, thiopental and propotol, which I think may be more effective without increasing the dosage."

Willie chuckled, "What're you wasting breath telling me for? I just do my job."

Julia looked exhausted, but dismissed her assistant to take his break at the scheduled time.

"Where are you off to today?" she inquired with a tone that implied she didn't really care.

Willie paused in the doorway, looking slightly impatient. "To the library."

"Again? I had no idea you were such an avid reader." Julia looked just a little skeptical. "What are your preferences?"

"Aw, nothing you'd like, just trashy books—no, I mean—it gives me something to do around here and don't cost anything."

"Of course. I didn't mean to pry." Julia returned to her work. "Have a nice time."

Willie skipped down the stairs, slightly annoyed at the brilliant doctor who obviously thought he was too stupid to read a goddam book.

_Did you ever read Hamlet, Dr. Hoffman? 'Cause I did. A couple of times. _


	28. Green Eggs and Adam

**April 1985**

"_The sun did not shine. It was too wet to play.  
So we sat in the house all that cold, cold, wet day.  
Too wet to go out and too cold to play ball.  
So we sat in the house. We did nothing at all._

"_So all we could do was to sit! sit! sit! sit!  
And we did not like it. Not one little bit._

"_And then something went BUMP!  
How that bump made us jump!  
We looked, then we saw him step in on the mat!  
We looked and we saw him! The cat in the hat!"_

Willie lowered the book.

"Cat. That's a C word, remember?" He pulled out from a stack of index cards three on which he had inscribed C, A and T. "Now you can make all these sounds, you just have to put them together. This is the way Gene taught me how to talk. It's just like going up steps, one at a time. Say Cuh, Aah, then put the T at the end. Try it."

Adam shook his head, looking overwhelmed.

"Come on, for Crissake, yesterday you said _Barnabas_. You can say _cat_. Just do it."

"No."

"You sure know that word good enough." The monster nudged the book towards his teacher. "No, I ain't reading any more till you say _cat_. If you do," he added with a tone that implied what followed would be a tremendous incentive, "I'll draw a star on your chart."

"Cuh-a-aa-at."

"There you go. What's the big idea, holdin' out on me like that." Willie untangled the intravenous tube that occasionally got in the way now that Adam could sit up and move around somewhat. "Don't you want Barnabas to be proud of you? Next thing, he'll be giving you Shakespeare books to read so you can better yourself."

Barnabas actually took little interest in the being his wife created, rarely even entering the laboratory. Julia, although fastidious in the creature's maintenance, never really regarded it as a person. Maybe because he was afraid to speak in their presence, the couple assumed the creature was an idiot, like Willie had told them. They would have to think that, otherwise, what they were doing would have been more than inhumane, something Willie blocked from his mind. He didn't want to think about that. Dr. Hoffman decided it wasn't necessary to return the body to a comatose state; she was concerned that additional medication might leach into his blood supply.

But Willie took good care of his pet monster. Just like he had looked after Jackie. Just like Stanley had cared for him. Willie figured it was a way to score some good Karma points, and he hoped that one day Adam would provide some kind of companionship. Maybe learn to do some of these maintenance chores for himself.

* * *

Willie popped a frozen dinner in the microwave along with a plastic bag of blood as Barnabas preferred his meals at body temperature. He poured the thick liquid into a tall, crystal goblet and carefully carried it on a polished tray down the hall to the largest bedroom.

The master's hand reached out from the open casket as he rose to a sitting position. The tray was held out for him as the vampire curled his fingers around the glass's stem and gingerly sipped. From his reaction, the breakfast beverage must have had an unpleasant aroma or aftertaste.

Willie stood silently at his side, waiting to be dismissed. He cleared his throat, causing Barnabas to look up in disdain.

"Am I keeping you from some undertaking of greater import?"

"It's just—uh, you want anything else?"

Barnabas waved him away with a sigh, and his servant took pains to close the door quietly behind him.

Willie trotted back to the laboratory with the tray tucked under his arm, hoping his own meal was still warm. He didn't mind when the boss was a little grumpy upon rising, acting like he had some nasty hangover. It was preferable to the vampire's traditional greetings early in their acquaintance: getting choked, chomped or backhanded…

"Adam, No!" Willie froze in the doorway. The creature was straining to get off the table, reaching for the servant's dinner which had been left on the writing desk. The intravenous tubes were stretched to capacity and about to burst open.

Willie dashed across the room, pulling the monster back. "What the hell do you think you're doing? Stop!"

Adam smelled the air and reached again for the plastic plate. His other hand went to his mouth in an eating gesture.

"Use your words," the teacher reminded him.

"Food. Food."

"Yeah, but that's Willie food, not Adam food."

"Want Willie food," the creature whined.

"No, you can't, 'cause Dr. Hoffman didn't build your part that eats to work all the way. That's why you have these bags that feed into your stomach. The green liquid stuff."

"Willie food." Trembling, Adam began to cry.

"Shuddup, will ya? You want Barnabas to hear? He's in a crappy mood, and if you make trouble, Julia'll knock you out and you'll be a zombie again." Willie's stomach growled as he glanced longingly at his pre-packaged chicken leg, mashed potatoes and peas. "I guess it's not fair to eat in front to you. Do you think you could stay there quietly for a few minutes while I go out in the hall?"

_Well, no break today except for this_, Willie mused as sat in the corridor, shoveling his dinner. He chuckled at the memory of Julia standing in the administrator's office at Wyndcliff, assuring Doc Gordon that the mental patient she had shown up to claim would receive her undivided attention. At least she was no longer trying to pump him full of pills. Despite an arduous work schedule and sporadic sleep breaks, Willie hadn't felt so clear headed in who knew when.

When the monster-sitter returned to work, Adam was, once again, trying to get up. Once again, Willie rushed over to avert disaster.

"Look, you. What's our rule about pulling on them tubes? If they pop out, you could die."

"Walk Willie."

"Now we ain't doing that again. If Dr. Hoffman finds out I walked you around the lab, she'll kill me."

"Walk Willie now!" The creature pounded his fist on the examination table.

"Don't you have a temper tantrum at me, big guy, or you will not hear a story tonight."

Adam's face contorted. "Willie bad." He began to weep again.

"Knock it off, you can't get everything you want by crying. That don't work on me." But Willie looked with dismay at his pathetic monster-child. It was frustrated, bored and depressed and had every right to be. Denied even the limited luxuries and freedoms his caregiver was allotted, Adam's only purpose was to be used by Barnabas and Julia. Like a slave.

"Alright, but just for a little time. You don't want to get me into trouble."

Willie detached the food bag, removed the tubes, capped the IV inserts and secured the tape on the body's waste bag. He then helped Adam to stand, close to collapsing under the enormous man's weight as he clung to Willie for support. The creature's balance usually improved after a few minutes, but walking would always be awkward for Adam. His legs had been taken from two different bodies and were not the same length.

* * *

**June 1985**

"_Then-he-came-to-a-dog. 'Are-you-my-mother?' he-said-to-the-dog. 'I-am-not-your-mother. I-am-a-dog,' said-the-dog."_

"Very good." Willie was mopping the floor as his student haltingly read aloud.

"Willie, are you my mother?"

"I am not your mother. I am a dog."

Willie continued to clean as Adam looked at the drawing in his book, then to his instructor in confusion.

"'_I-did-have-a-mother,' said-the-baby-bird. 'I...'"_

Willie peeked at the book. _"know."_

"_'I-know-I-did._ _I-have-to-find-her. I-willie!'"_

"Huh?" Again he checked the text. "Just _will. I will._"

"Does baby bird find mother?"

"Did he find her the last time you read it?"

"Yes."

"Then he will this time too. The ending is always the same."

Adam gazed toward the window with a pensive expression. "I will find my mother," he announced.

"I told you, you ain't got a mother, except for Dr. Hoffman, and she don't count. That's okay, I don't have one no more either. When you get up to reading _Peter Pan_, you'll find out mothers are very overrated persons."

The creature analyzed his caretaker's statement. "Mother bad."

"My mom?" Willie smiled at her memory. "No, no, she was beautiful—and fun and I loved her an awful lot. She taught me how to play Poker and…yeah, sometimes she got sad, but I took good care of her…she would've been fine if I hadn't gone away." He wiped his nose on his sleeve. "Lydie was, I don't know…different from the other moms. Okay, maybe a little crazy. I mean, she had two sons and named them Willie and Dick. Who the hell does that?" The creature had a puzzled expression. "Look, just finish your book. I'm busy here."

"When will we walk?"

"When the floor dries."

* * *

Willie was watching an old time gangster movie on the portable television. James Cagney was being dragged, screaming and kicking, from his prison cell to the awaiting executioner. It reminded him a little of Wyndcliff when it was time for shock therapy.

"You're missing the end, Adam."

The creature stood across the room, fingering the drapes in the alcove as he gazed wistfully out the window.

"The movie is bad. They hurt Rocky."

"Come on, it was his fault. The lug shouldn't have got caught. But look, see, in the end, he saved them young hoods from a bad life by pretending he's not so tough after all."

"Rocky is chicken shit?"

"Yeah, but in a good way. How about if you come away from the window now."

Adam pressed his hand to the pane. "I wish to see world."

His supervisor sighed. "I know you read that in a book."

Adam's face brightened as he pointed to an airplane flying overhead. "What that, Willie?" He yanked the young man to the alcove. "What?"

"Not so rough, big boy," Willie pulled away. "Let's check this sucker out." He pushed farther aside the heavy velvet drapery and flung open the sash. A delicious summer breeze wafted in and enveloped the pair. They paused and savored the scent of fresh air.

"The world is pretty." Adam's eyes were filled with wonder.

"It is today, that's for sure. Look at all the stuff." Willie pointed to various objects beyond and the student repeated his new words. Cloud. Tree. Rock. Sky. "Look, did you see? A robin just flew up into that tree. There's probably a baby bird in her nest." He cupped the creature's ear. "Hear that sound? That's the ocean. It's a big bucket of water out there, just past them cliffs, sometimes you can even smell it." Adam pointed below to the white pickup in the driveway. "That's just my truck. I use it to go away."

The monster grabbed him up by the shoulders. "Willie do not go away!" He shook the young man forcefully. "No!"

"Stop, you're hurting me! Put me down. Now." Adam reluctantly released his captive. "What have I told you about yelling when Mrs. Hatchet-face is cleaning downstairs, huh?" Willie reached up and swatted the giant upside his head. "Listen up, dumbass: I only go away for a little time 'cause I have to do stuff. I always come back." He guided Adam to his table. "Your one bag's full and that one's empty, time to hook up."

"Adam wish go away."

"Well, you can't." Willie secured the monster's straps.

"Why?"

"Because…a lot of reasons." Adam waited for the explanation as his caretaker reattached the intravenous tubes. "For one thing, you need all these bags and pipelines; you got to stay nearby them always, or else..." He made a plosive sound to describe Adam's theoretical demise.

"Adam go away for _little _time, like Willie."

"People might see you, buddy, and they'd be scared, because you're…uh, different." The creature stared at him with big, doleful eyes. "Also, y-you don't got any clothes, just that gown thing, and it don't cover half what it's supposed to—" Monster boy tugged at Willie's T shirt. "No, you can't wear mine, they wouldn't exactly fit. Shit, I don't know where I would begin to find pants in size 200."

Strapped down to the table and attached to his lifelines, Adam was no longer able to move, but turned his head to the wall. "Willie go away now," he sniffed. "Go away."


	29. A Midsummer Night's Scheme

Willie smiled, his eyes gleaming in the candlelight as he fingered the loot in Barnabas' jewelry case. Rings and pins the vampire never wore, tie pins and cuff links in platinum, gold and every kind of precious stone.

"Were my instructions too difficult?" Barnabas was waiting for his accessories.

"No, no, sorry." Willie fetched the diamond stud cuff links as he glanced at the mantle clock. "You don't want to be late to your party."

"Which is what will happen if you don't stop daydreaming."

"There. You're all set." Willie handed Dr. Hoffman a pair of long, white gloves and her clutch. "Have fun."

Dressed in formal attire, Barnabas and Julia were attending the annual Midsummer Eve's ball at Collinwood. Elizabeth prepared to celebrate her return to the land of the living and the sudden, unexplained disappearance of Roger's wicked wife. Roger prepared to get plastered. From what Willie gathered from his bosses' conversation, it had not been a successful union, which came as no surprise. He surmised the woman had married for money and had been disappointed at the outcome. Or maybe she was just nuts; she had those crazy eyes. But the gossip and intrigue surrounding the Collins clan didn't concern the lowly servant, especially anything going on up at the great house.

For some reason, Barnabas would get that enraged expression and start slamming things whenever the name Cassandra Collins was mentioned. Then Dr. Hoffman would change the subject.

Julia, usually associated with slacks or severe skirts, looked quite elegant in a flowing, amber gown, but the sight of Barnabas in full-dress tuxedo with tails was a bit unnerving. All he needed to complete the scenario was a black cape and Transylvanian accent.

Willie got the couple loaded in Julia's sedan and waited until they drove away. Then he sprinted up the stairs to his room where the first order of business was to lose that long-sleeve button-down shirt that the boss insisted he wear, no matter how hot it was. He pulled on a white tee shirt, grabbed a bundle which had been stashed in his dresser drawer, and proceeded to the lab.

"Wake up, pal," Willie called, switching on the lights. "It's dress-up time."

"Adam…clothes?"

"Well, actually they're Stanley's pajamas, no, his roommate who died, but seems he was a pretty big fella. I know, 'cause I wore these for a long while. We got some elastic-waist pants and the world's largest tee shirt." Willie detached the tubes and helped the creature into clothing for the first time. The outfit was far from perfect but serviceable, especially in light of the evening's pleasant weather conditions. "Barnabas and Julia will be out for a good, long while, and everybody is at the party, except ole' Willie and his big buddy—so you and me are going for a walk outside to look at the ocean."

Adam stood beaming at the mirror Willie held up, but then a cloud of concern spread over his face as the monster began to touch his scars.

"Don't worry about them, everybody's got scars. See?" Willie held out his arm. "On some people, they're invisible but they all got them. Besides, I think you look real handsome, just like you was going to the ball too." Adam continued to stare at his reflection. "Candle's burning, big guy. Do you want to stand there all night looking at yourself or go walk outside?"

Adam turned away. "Walk with Willie."

* * *

"Holy crap on a cracker." The duo stared down from the top of the stairs with apprehension. "Are you sure you still wanna do this?" Adam nodded emphatically. "Then, here we go. Oh Christ, be careful; this is scary."

Willie demonstrated by going first. He gripped the banister with both hands and slowly descended one step at a time. Adam followed suit and their plan was successful until the giant missed a step and lost his footing. He crashed into Willie and the two tumbled down the last six steps.

"Shit, shit, shit." Willie scrambled out from beneath the tangle of limbs and immediately checked under his charge's shirt to ensure the bags taped there had not dislodged. Adam began to sob. "Don't you cry. You had to figure that was going to happen. Look, I'm not crying, am I? And I'm the one you landed on."

He helped the big fellow to his feet and they cautiously made their way out to Willie's pickup. Adam stood just outside the front door, marveling at the night sky. He touched a pillar and started to head towards a tree.

"Wait, hold on," his caretaker intercepted. "You got some more steps to go—and no railing. Damn." Then he struck upon a solution. "Sit down, like this," Willie demonstrated on the top step. "And just scoot down. That way you won't fall."

Adam navigated the steps with no further difficulty. He began to walk towards the woods.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?" Willie caught up with the giant as he stroked the tree bark.

"This is tree." Adam presented the discovery to his teacher. "This is tree!"

"Yes, but we ain't hugging trees tonight. Do you want to go away or not?"

"Adam go away! Go away!" Willie led his jubilant monster to the truck and helped him in the passenger side.

"You will keep your butt planted in that seat 'til we get there. It's just a little time."

Willie rolled down the windows and cranked the radio. Then he headed his vehicle towards the cliff. Adam thrust his head and right arm out the window, delighted to feel the passing breeze. It was only a short walk to Widow's Hill, but more than the caregiver thought Adam could handle. Besides, Willie smiled to himself, monster boy was having a blast cruising in the pickup.

* * *

The servant and the monster stood holding hands at the precipice of Widow's Hill. They gazed into the horizon and the expanse of ocean below them. By the light of a full moon, they watched in the distance as a whale erupted from the water to crash playfully into the surf. On the shore below some folks had built a large bonfire; it seemed to be quite a gathering. With an ethereal quality, the beachcombers reveled among the rocks and around the flames.

Willie dismissed the group as drunken teens at first, then did a double take and squinted as he peered over the edge at the crowd. One of them was wearing a trench coat. Another was a little girl in a long dress.

"Come on!" the man shouted, yanking Adam away. "We're joining the party!"

The truck skidded around the hill to the beach and Willie leaped from the driver's seat. "Wait here!" he called to his companion and ran towards the group.

"Sarah!" Willie shouted as he scooped her into his arms. The child wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek.

"I missed you, Willie. Why did you go away?"

"I was sick for a long time. When I got back, I couldn't find you."

"You disappeared from that mausoleum and that was the end of it," the Irishman came up behind him with a pat on the back. "Like that time you skipped off to prison for a spell. It's good to have you back, lad."

"Jason, I'm awful glad to see you. What's with all these ghosts?"

"'Tis midsummer's eve and the spirits will frolic. We gather here many a' night." Jason then directed his partner's attention to the pickup. "Your passenger is lookin' a wee bit anxious."

Adam, unable to operate the door knob, was attempting to climb through the truck window.

"Oh, crap." Willie released the little girl who skipped off to resume her dance. "I brought a friend. He's, uh, a little strange."

The Irishman laughed. "Why am I not surprised? Well, if he's a pal of yours, lad, I'll not be one to judge."

Adam joined the gang and, with his companion, was introduced to some of the spirits of Collinsport. There was a stalwart looking, bearded gentleman with a look of the sea (and seaweed) about him.

"Bill."

"Will."

The two shook hands.

"Do you know Elizabeth Stoddard? How is she?" the ghost inquired.

"Better, I hear. She's not gonna die."

"Why would you say that?"

"Last time I saw Mrs. Stoddard she was in a loony bin saying she was going to die." The ghost frowned at this unwelcome news. "But she's all better now. She's having a big party tonight."

"That's the Midsummer Eve ball, I reckon."

"Whatever. I wasn't on the guest list."

There was that doctor who had set the bone when Jason broke Willie's finger, and a big, burly guy who grunted and ambled away. And—Oh no, walking towards Willie was the specter of Jane Ackerman, a girl Barnabas had murdered and forced him to bury in the woods. He tried to avoid her, but to no avail. Her skin was a bloodless blue and dirt streaked her hair and clothing.

"I've been looking for you."

"I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean, I mean, I—"

"I wanted to say thank you," she smiled, taking his hand. "For saying a prayer at my grave."

There were men in frock coats and cutaways, and ladies in long gowns and bonnets elaborate and simple. A tall, rogue of a man with muttonchops and piercing eyes, laughed heartily as he waltzed with his statuesque, Victorian girlfriend. Three whiny widows huddled near a rock. By the fire a Colonial dude sat in quiet conversation with a lady wearing her wedding dress and veil. A flirtatious floozy entertained the ensemble with songs and dance, and an irritating joker practically scared the brown bag out of Adam by appearing behind them to shout "Boo!"

Some snacks or beer would have topped it off, but overall, Willie thought it was a pretty damn good get-together. Probably better than that stupid dress-up ball. Adam thought so too. He had been given strict orders to not go near the fire, but was permitted to collect some shells from the beach. The creature got a little testy when told it was time to leave, but Willie knew you have to be tough with these monsters, or they'll walk all over you.

"Adam wish to party," he pouted, turning away.

"Adam is going to get real sick if he don't get back on that hookup soon. I told you this was just for a little time." The giant dug his clamshell into the sand. "If you give me a hard time, we ain't going to do this again, you hear?"

"Again? Adam go away again?" The creature's face brightened.

Willie shrugged. "Maybe. If we get another chance, why not? These are my friends."


	30. Hitting the Fan

Willie entered the diner and spotted his friend sitting alone, surrounded by a mountain of food. Hamburgers, French fries, lobster rolls, chicken legs, stuffed cabbage and a gigantic ice cream sundae.

"Adam, no. You know you can't eat that stuff. You don't have the digestion parts."

But the monster continued to munch away, smiling up at Willie with a full mouth.

"Taste good. Sit with Adam and share." He patted the empty chair next to him.

"I just came to look for Maggie, 'cause she works here." The young man took a seat, and a French fry. "You're going to get awful sick. Julia said you can't eat food like a regular person."

"Julia lie, you know that; just to be mean. Like Barnabas." Adam gestured to his friend. "Eat, eat."

Willie shrugged and took a chomp out of the lobster roll as a gorilla-sized security guard in sunglasses approached and spoke softly in his ear.

"Sir, your name isn't on the list, so you're going to have to leave."

"I want to see Maggie Evans. It's important."

"But she don't want to see you, so get out."

The bouncer proceeded to escort Willie to the door but was prevented by his monster friend. Adam picked up the man, shaking him fiercely.

"Bad!" The creature cried as he snapped the man's neck. "Go away!"

"Shit, Adam, you killed him!" Willie stared in horror at the heap on the floor as he tugged on monster boy's arm. "We got to get out of here!"

"After ice cream." Adam returned to his seat.

Willie ran out the door onto the empty sidewalk, searching for his pickup truck. Wind stirred a tumbleweed down the abandoned street as twilight fell on Collinsport.

A silhouetted couple appeared in the distance. As they approached, the figures revealed themselves as Maggie and Joe Haskell, pushing a baby carriage down the center of the street. Willie ran towards them, but Joe stepped forward and shoved him away.

"Leave my wife alone, you psycho!"

"No, that's my wife, and th-that's my baby." The woman walked by without a glance. "Maggie, wait, please don't leave me!"

Joe tackled him to the ground and Willie found himself in a street brawl. Fueled with fury, Haskell rammed his fist into his opponent's gut as Willie fumbled for the switchblade in his pocket. The knife was knocked away but Willie used the distraction to roll to one side and leap to his feet. He kicked Joe in his pretty boy face, swung back and kicked him again in the balls.

Maggie continued on her path, even as a car came speeding towards her. It was Julia Hoffman in her tan sedan, about to run down mother and child as a large, black bat hovered overhead. "NO!" Willie tore down the street, yanking Maggie and the carriage out of harm's way just the vehicle sped by. It ran over Joe Haskell instead.

"Maggie, I want to take care of you, you and the baby. I've learned how to do that now. Can I see him please? Does he look like me—or you?"

"He looks like Pop."

Willie pulled back the blue baby blanket to reveal a pudgy, miniature Sam Evans, complete with gray hair, beard and pipe.

"Give me a light, Loomis," the baby growled.

Julie screeched to a stop before putting the car into reverse, backing up over Joe, who was starting to look like road kill, as the bat descended and transformed into Barnabas. The vampire struck Willie aside and took Miss Evans into the folds of his long cape. Julia braked a few yards away and alit from the automobile. She opened the truck and released two silver wolves, his familiar adversaries. Willie turned to run, but slammed headlong into Adam, who was crying. The monster's gut had burst open and he clutched at his dangling entrails.

"Willie, help Adam! Adam hurt! Wake up, Willie!"

"I told you not to eat that food."

The young man led his friend to a nearby gurney but two orderlies forced Willie into a straightjacket and strapped him to the transport instead. He struggled and screamed as they wheeled him away, helplessly watching the wolves bring down Adam and devour him.

"Wake up, Willie!"

* * *

Willie awoke, covered in sweat, curled into a corner of Aunt Abigail's bed, clutching the bedpost in terror. Gripping his storybook, Adam gawked at him from across the room, wide eyed with fear and confusion.

"Willie sad," the monster ventured. "Why Willie cry with sleep?"

"I never cry," the servant said automatically as he scanned the room, still trembling. "W-what did I say?"

"Maggie. Julia. _No, No_, you yell. Cry. You tell Adam, _don't cry; I don't cry_—but you do."

"Nobody else heard, did they?"

"Nobody come." Adam shook his head.

"I just have bad dreams sometimes." Willie shrugged it off. "Do you—ever dream?" The monster was confused. "See things when you sleep."

The creature smiled. "Yes, Adam see beach. Walk with ghost friends and dance. Eat chicken."

Willie, in the days following their adventure, had been called upon to explain what exactly ghosts were and, subsequently, to the best of his ability, dead people. He declined to mention how many of the Collinsport spirit coalition had been sent to their fates by the creation's surrogate father, Barnabas.

Having lost interest in his picture book, the monster put it aside. "Why Adam no go away again to beach?"

Willie put on his sneakers and returned to his chores.

"Because Barnabas and Julia are watching me like a couple of hawks, and I'm afraid of what that witch doctor's going to do when she finds out you're all walking and talking. What's the big deal anyway? She gets so freaked that something bad might happen to her precious blood-making machine."

"Why Barnabas need blood?" The monster began to play with the one-legged G.I. Joe and his souvenir clam shells from the beach.

"That's just what he drinks. I drink beer, you drink green stuff and he drinks blood," his caregiver replied dismissively.

"Why?"

Willie figured there was no harm in telling him, as the creature wouldn't know what the word meant.

"Barnabas is a big ole' vampire, that's why. It's no big deal; that's his job. I was one too, you know, for a while."

"There are many vam-pires?"

"How should I know? Probably more than folks realize."

Adam carefully considered the warden's words.

"There is more like Adam to make blood for the vam-pires?"

"I don't think so. You see, Julia invented you because she's a doctor or scientist, something."

Hoping for a kindred spirit, Adam deflated at the news. "How—" the monster puzzled, "how do vampires get blood without Adams?"

"Look, I got work to do. I can't be—"

But Adam grabbed his sleeve, almost pulling Willie off his feet. "Talk to Adam now. I wish to know where vampires get blood and doctor make Adam how."

"First off, keep your paws to yourself, buster. If you were a better student and read more, you wouldn't have such a hard time putting them words together to ask questions."

"If you were better teacher, you wouldn't have such hard time answer them questions."

Adam and Willie glared at each other. Both were going stir crazy cooped up in that laboratory, and no immediate opportunities for adventures presented themselves. Their owners seldom left the house and never for long. A couple of times Willie discovered Dr. Hoffman listening outside the lab door.

"Where vampires get blood?" Adam repeated.

"Fine." Willie threw down his dust cloth. "You know, for someone who can barely talk, you're pretty mouthy." He sat next to Adam. "Vampires have long teeth and bite folks to suck their blood, but Julia thinks that's rude or something, 'cause Barnabas told me she won't let him bite her. So she came up with the idea of you."

"_How_ Julia make me, Willie?" He was getting frustrated. "From egg in nest?"

"People don't lay eggs in nests, you dim bulb." Adam threw G.I. Joe to the floor. "Look, she found you in a fucking cabbage patch, okay? I'm not sure you're old enough for this conversation."

Adam began to sulk once more. "Willie is one friend, but he hate Adam. I wish for new friend."

"Shut up, I don't hate you," the teacher replied, picking up the doll and regarding it sadly. "And…you're my only friend, too. Shit. Ain't we a pathetic couple of losers."

The monster pulled on Willie's sleeve. "Talk to Adam." He looked pleadingly at his caretaker.

"Alright," Willie sighed. "You were made out of…dead people. Kind of cool in a way—like recycling. Julia said it would make medical history and help lots of people. Of course, the only people I think it helped was her and Barnabas."

"Dead people." Adam was still unclear of the concept. "From the beach?"

"Hospitals mostly. She made me drive her all around in the middle of the night making pickups. Then she stuck all the parts together."

"Adam is a ghost?"

"No! Look, it's complicated."

"Willie don't know because stupid."

"Not as stupid as you, jackass."

"Willie bad!"

Willie shushed his monster when he heard a soft knock at the door and Dr. Hoffman stepped in.

"Excuse me, Willie, may I speak to you?"

"Sure." The lab assistant put aside his dust cloth.

"In private, if you please. Come to my room." Julia left as Willie glanced sideways at the creature.

"Willie!" A baritone voice bellowed from down the hall.

"Oh, crap." The servant recognized the tone of voice. What did he do this time? Willie turned on the television and angled it for the monster. "Now just sit still and keep your big mouth shut. I'll be back in a minute…I hope."

Willie joined Julia and Barnabas in the master bedroom, casually wiping his hands on his jeans. "Sorry, I was busy cleaning. What's up?"

"To whom were you speaking just now?" Julia began, folding her arms.

"N-Nobody. I mean, just Adam. Same as nobody."

"Julia tells me she overheard the two of you," Barnabas interjected. "Quite a heated conversation." They stood on either side of Willie.

"Nah, I was talking to myself," the servant laughed. "You probably heard the TV. Adam can't do nothing; he's a moron."

Julia sat the young man down and the couple hovered over him. "I don't know what you think you're accomplishing with this charade." Willie shrugged as she continued. "Just how functional is that thing? We know he speaks to you, so don't deny it."

"Look, I-I just read to him sometimes because I'm bored. I even do different voices, but Adam don't understand." His left leg started to bounce. "He just babbles like a little baby."

Barnabas gripped his wolf-head cane. "I am losing my patience with you!"

"Please, dear, don't frighten the boy," Julia interceded. She sat next to the servant and spoke gently. "It's very important that you be honest with us, Willie. If this experiment derails, it could easily spiral out of control, which would be disastrous; do you understand?"

Willie looked at the couple incredulously. Were they seriously playing good cop/bad cop with him?

"I don't know what the hell you're talking about. I didn't teach him nothing, why should I? I got enough work taking care of Frankenbaby as it is."

He jumped to his feet and was attempting a hasty exit when Barnabas caught his arm.

"If you are lying, I promise you will regret it. Is there anything of which we should be aware? Anything at all?" the vampire demanded.

"No!" Willie shouted. "Why do you two always pick on me? You blame me for everything." The servant backed away as Mr. and Mrs. Collins looked at each other. "What? What do you want me to say?"

"You've said quite enough. Now I'm going to examine the body, and we'll see what Adam has to say." Julia announced. "Come with me, Barnabas. You are dismissed for now, Willie."

"That's okay, I got nothing else to do." He attempted to intercept their advance to the door and, failing that, followed the couple to the lab. "It's kind of messy in there right now, I was just about—"

There was a roar of laughter from inside the room. Julia abruptly swung open the door to discover Adam kicked back on the exam table watching a romantic comedy on TV. He gave a startled yell as the doctor approached him, but she flashed a kind smile and warmly took his hand.

"There's no need to be frightened, Adam. I'm here to help. How are you feeling this evening?" Adam shot a wary look to his caregiver who sidestepped the vampire in the doorway, made his way across the room and turned off the TV before retreating to a far corner to watch shit hit the fan. "It's alright, I know you can speak. Did Willie tell you not to talk to us? That wasn't nice of him. I bet there's a lot of things you'd like to do." Adam nodded hesitantly. "Were you watching a funny television show?"

"Yes," the monster replied with uncertainty but seemed to relax a little.

"Please tell me all about it," she prodded him gently.

"The man and woman in bed. They laugh and…" He gestured to his mouth.

"Kissed. Did you like that, Adam?"

"Yes." The monster was encouraged by the doctor's friendly tone. "The woman is his friend. I wish to have woman friend." He sneered slightly. "I have only Willie."

"But Willie is your good friend, isn't he? He takes excellent care of you."

"Some time Willie bad," the creature tattled. "Willie dumb ass shithead fuck off."

Barnabas and Julia glared at their duplicitous servant.

"I don't know where he gets it," he shrugged innocently.

Adam continued his grievance. "Willie won't talk to Adam or walk again outside to beach." He roughly patted Julia's arm with a hearty laugh. "Doctor make new friend for Adam. Woman friend from dead bodies."

The doctor smiled in a condescending manner.

"Well, that sounds like a lovely idea but it would take a very long time. Years to assemble the necessary—"

"Now! Adam wish for friend now!" Julia jumped out of harm's way when the monster tried to grab at her. "Doctor make Adam, now make friend or…or…" He started to tug at the IV tubes in frustration.

"Don't do that. Stop now." The doctor spoke with authority but did not raise her voice.

"Doctor do not make new friend, Adam make no more blood for vampires. No!" He reached for her again, swiping his arm in the air.

"As you wish, Adam. I'll visit the hospital right away to see if they have any dead bodies lying around, but you must behave yourself until I return. Do you understand?"

"No! No! No!"

"It's okay, buddy," Willie interrupted from the sidelines. "Julia has to go away to get the parts before she can build anything. She'll come right back."

"Julia go away only for a little time," Adam demanded, staring her down like an animal poised to attack.

"Yes, of course." Dr. Hoffman walked out of the room, the vampire followed, scowling.

"Nice going," Willie muttered to monster boy. "I am so fucked right now."

"Willie!" Barnabas bellowed from the corridor.

Willie trudged out the door as the creature regarded him smugly. On the other side, Barnabas seized the back of the man's neck and hauled him down the hall where he landed against a wall.

"You've done it this time," Julia hissed. "You really have. Why on earth would you try to hide this from us? What were you thinking? That's the trouble, you don't think. That thing is dangerous."

"He'll be okay, Julia," Willie replied, wincing. "He just has these tantrums sometimes, you know, like a little kid. Then he's fine."

"You betrayed our trust!" the vampire roared, raising his cane in the air.

"For goodness sake, Barnabas, not now," Julia interceded. "We have a potential crisis on our hands."

Her husband withdrew from habit, then, remembering himself, struck the servant anyway on the shoulder. He was the master around there, after all, not Julia.

"You never said not to teach him stuff," Willie whimpered. "You never said that."

"I also didn't say, don't take the deranged giant for a stroll on a public beach. Do you know why? Because I assumed you were not a complete idiot."

"Deranged? He just gets a little grumpy."

"The brain was damaged. Violent outbursts are not uncommon under the circumstances. As he becomes more functional, they will increase and you will not be able to control him."

The young man stared at her, disbelieving. "Why would you put a damaged brain in a seven-foot monster?"

"There was not a large selection from which to choose," she retorted. "And it wouldn't have been a problem if he had stayed in the coma. Well, Adam is going back to sleep permanently and this time you had better report any change, or I will pull the plug on this whole project."

"You're going to kill him!"

"Quiet, you fool!" Barnabas growled.

"But, Julia, you can't. He's a person with feelings."

"It's a monstrosity, and it's my fault, I created it," Julia lamented. "Don't get emotional, Willie, we have to fix this before someone gets hurt. He already resents you. Who do you think he'll attack first?" Willie looked away sadly. "Adam will go to sleep and never know what happened. It won't hurt him."

"You don't know that, not for sure."

"We have two choices. Adam will be asleep or dead, and I don't want to hear any more argument." She led Willie back to the lab. "Now get in there and stand guard until Barnabas and I return. Say whatever you must to keep the thing calm." The doctor descended the staircase. Her husband grunted and followed.

Willie's hand paused on the doorknob. How could he face Adam, and tell his only friend that he was about to be turned into a vegetable, or maybe even murdered? The creature would never hurt anyone, not really. He was just like a petulant child, a bit spoiled maybe, but not dangerous. There was always some way to distract the thing's attention and restore his humor. Willie sat despondently on the floor outside the laboratory door.

How long would Julia and Barnabas be at the hospital? Was it possible to just walk into the joint and order a batch of morphine or whatever she used to make zombie juice? Willie surmised that doctors and vampires could do pretty much anything they chose to. _With great power comes great responsibility_, Spiderman once said, although Willie felt neither Dr. Hoffman nor Barnabas would be familiar with the philosophical musings of Peter Parker.

In the laboratory there was a crash. Then another. Something metal hit the wall and glass exploded and shattered. Willie jumped in fear, unsure of whether he should investigate or run like hell.

The lab door was pulled off its hinges, and Adam stood there clutching a ripped piece of the table straps. Blood, green liquid and glucose flowed from the severed intravenous tubes which dangled from his arms. The monster roared as he lurched from the room toward Willie. The young man scrambled across the floor but Adam grabbed him up, shaking him like a rag doll.

"Adam will not be dead, Willie will be dead!"

"Knock it off, nobody's—stop—put me down!"

"You want to hurt Adam!"

"You're hurting yourself, look at your tubes!"

Adam flung his caretaker into the nearest wall. Willie collapsed and tumbled down the stairs with his adversary in pursuit as the creature missed several steps and fell the rest of the way. He sat momentarily stunned then lunged at Willie with an anguished cry as the young man fled out the front door. Slamming it behind him, Willie fumbled for his keys to lock it. On the other side, Adam pounded and yanked on the knob, still unsure of how such mechanisms functioned. Willie raced for his truck and tore off down the driveway. He had to find Barnabas and Dr. Hoffman before anything else hit the fan.


	31. It Happened One Night

Willie careened into the sleepy village and headed for the hospital in search of his bosses. Parking halfway up the curb, he fell onto the sidewalk and scrambled to the front door—which was locked for the evening, so the young man dashed around to the Emergency Room entrance at the rear of the building. A middle-aged nurse took him firmly by the arm and attempted to guide him to the triage area.

"Don't worry, we'll take good care of you. What are your symptoms?"

"Me? No, I'm not sick—" he panted.

"Sir, you're very pale, and your head is bleeding."

"Huh? It is?" He wiped away the moisture dripping down his face. "It's nothing. I just fell down the stairs. Where's—?"

"Please sit down and I'll page the doctor."

"I need to find Dr. Hoffman and Barnabas Collins now!" He yelled. "Where are they?"

The woman regarded him quizzically. "They left a while ago."

"Shit! Gimme your phone!" He grabbed the receiver from the admission desk and began to dial the Old House.

"You can't use that. There's a pay phone in the hall."

"Lady, please shuddup, this is an emergency room, right? Well, I got me an emergency—"

The robust woman reached over to the intercom and paged Dr. Lang. Meanwhile, Dr. Hoffman answered the telephone.

"Julia, thank God you're back—I mean, No, Run! Angry! Blood! He's loose and he tried to kill me! Get out of the house!"

The nurse gaped at the frantic young man, then decided she had better summon a security guard or orderly as well.

"Too late for that," the doctor replied with unexpected calm. "Looks like Adam had one of those little tantrums you talked about. Then he tossed a wingback chair though the parlor window and escaped."

"Holy crap." Willie collapsed into the nurse's desk chair.

"I'm glad you're safe—where are you calling from?"

"The hospital. Came here looking for you guys."

"For heaven's sake, watch what you say. Can anyone hear you?"

Willie and the nurse exchanged looks as he jumped out of her chair. "Uh, maybe."

"Don't say anything else."

"Julia, what are we going to do?" Willie yelled.

"Not panic. Now, listen carefully. Adam won't get far in his condition; he'll never survive without his IV tubes attached but there's no saying how long it will take. He may bleed to death before the organs shut down or toxins back up into his system. My guess is that Adam's wandering somewhere in the woods, probably searching for you. The important thing is to find him before anyone else does. I'm waiting here in case he returns and Barnabas is searching the grounds with your rifle."

"I'll be right back."

"No, thank you. You've done enough damage for one evening. I'm afraid seeing you will infuriate Adam further and create a dangerous situation."

"Then what am I supposed to do?"

"Just stay away for now. Get a room for the night at the inn and I'll call you in the morning."

"Julia?" There was silence on the other end. "I'm sorry. I shoulda done like you said."

"We'll discuss it later. Get some rest because we'll need you tomorrow—and speak to no one."

"Sure. I promise." Willie hung up and noticed the head nurse now standing in tandem with a large orderly and a white-haired doctor, all observing him with uncertainty.

"You're the one they brought back from Wyndcliff, aren't you?" Dr. Lang stated.

"Maybe. Yeah." The young man backed toward the door. "Got to run now." Willie ran.

"Should we call the police?" the nurse questioned.

"Not my problem," the doctor replied dismissively. "That's Hoffman's headache."

* * *

Willie sat by the open window of a Collinsport Inn guest room. The street below was deserted and dark, except for light and music peeking out from behind the door of the Blue Whale Tavern across the way. His thoughts returned to poor Adam, sick and frightened, wandering lost in the shadowy woods, hiding from a homicidal vampire. And that was Willie's fault. If he wasn't always so thoughtless and selfish, monster boy would have been sleeping peacefully at home on his metal laboratory table.

He restlessly paced the little room. Sprawled on the bed. Returned to the window. Willie rubbed the back of his neck to work out a kink, realizing his entire back ached from the body slam earlier that evening. A bottle of aspirin would have gone down very nicely just then, along with a couple of drinks to help him relax and fall asleep. The tavern wouldn't be crowded, not this late on a weeknight, and he would be careful not to talk to anyone.

The young man's assumptions were correct. Crystal the bartender was cleaning up while keeping an eye on a young blonde woman feeding the jukebox and a guy mumbling to his scotch at a nearby table. Willie picked up his glass, ordered a second, and approached the old drunk.

"Hello, Mr. Evans, can I buy you a drink?"

Sam looked up and smiled sloppily. "Loomis, you certainly may. To what do I owe this honor?"

"Just trying to be friendly."

"Well, you came to the right place. I'm the friendliest guy in town. Cheers."

They clinked glasses. Willie downed some peanuts as he observed briefly the look of despondency on his former father-in-law's face.

"Is everything…okay? You look kind of down."

"Just tired, that's all. I'm too old to be chasing a toddler all over the place. That girl runs me ragged."

Willie chuckled in commiseration. "I know what you mean. I got the biggest tod—" his jaw dropped. "Wait. You mean…my…?"

"Your daughter, yes. Her name is Samantha. Now that you're back in town, perhaps you'd like to take some responsibility for her."

"Samantha."

"I don't mean in person. Maggie doesn't want you anywhere near her or the child, but a check would not be unwelcome."

"What's she like? Samantha."

"Headstrong and pretty, just like her mother, but she's a little hellion, breaking things, getting into my paints. Don't get me wrong, I love the girl, I just can't watch her by myself."

"Where's her mother?"

"Just who do you think is supporting us? I haven't sold a painting in over a year. Maggie thought we'd be set when she bought the diner, but now we're in debt to the bank and the damn place doesn't turn a profit. Can't afford to hire more help so she works all the time or is exhausted. I help out as much as I can with Sammi."

Willie frowned, feeling partially at fault for their misfortune. "I'm sorry things haven't been good. I can send her money for the kid. I got some savings."

"In that case, pal," the artist laughed suddenly, "let's splurge on another round."

"Uh…sure, Mr. Evans." He smiled uneasily.

"You know, Loomis," Sam slapped the young man's shoulder as Willie winced in discomfort. "I feel I somewhat misjudged you in the past, but you can't blame a father for wanting to protect his little girl."

"No, sir, you can't," Willie replied quietly. "By the way, when did you start drinking today? Was it before lunch?"

Willie was about to call an order to the barmaid when Joe Haskell appeared in the doorway.

"No, you don't, that's enough for tonight, Sam." He helped the old man to his feet. "Let's get you home."

"I don't want to leave," Sam whined. "I had a hard day, now I'm relaxing with my friend."

"He's not your friend." Haskell shot a dirty look at the drinking companion. "Stay away from us, do you hear?"

Willie watched as Joe led his besotted buddy out the door.

"That Sammi is a wild child."

Willie turned to discover Carolyn Stoddard watching him as she leaned against the juke box. "Adorable little girl except for that temper of hers. That's what they say, anyway." She looked tipsy as well as she crossed the room towards him. "Are you buying drinks for everybody or does your taste lean only to old bearded guys?"

"I guess so." He was slightly bewildered that the Collins princess would speak to him. "I mean, yeah, okay. What are you drinking?"

"You have to dance with me first." The young woman took hold of his belt buckle and led him onto the modest dance floor.

Willie shook his head. "I don't—"

"Sure you do. It's easy." She leaned her head on his shoulder, wrapped her arms around his neck and swayed to the music. "Isn't this nice? Just you, me, the martinis and the music."

They continued to slow dance for a while in silence as the young woman caressed her partner's back with a familiarity Willie welcomed but regarded with suspicion.

"What were you doing here by yourself, Carolyn?"

"Same as you. Looking for companionship, a kindred soul to help me through the lonely night."

It was certainly news to Willie that a babe like Carolyn would consider him a kindred soul. She had responded to his previous attempts to establish contact by shoving a half grapefruit in his face and another time had pointed a pistol at his pecker. The handyman had to wonder if he would be receiving such attention had there been anyone else in the bar to choose from. But she smelled nice and Willie couldn't remember the last time he held something warm and soft and pretty.

"Okay," he said. "I'll keep you company if you want."

"Less talking, more dancing! Whee!" The music changed to a high voltage number and the girl began to fling herself around the dance floor, her blonde ponytail bouncing after her. Willie grabbed the young woman by the waist.

"You're going to fall; come sit down."

"Are we getting a drink?

"Yeah, you bet."

* * *

Willie and Carolyn gazed at each other over a double rum and a Harvey Wallbanger.

"So, what do you want to know?" the girl chatted away. "Well, everyone at Collinwood is just peachy—pretty much. Mother seems fully recovered from being catatonic, dead and/or crazy, Uncle Roger is drowning his sorrows since his wife took off. At least she didn't steal the silver when she left, unlike your pal, Jason. However David found his stepmother carousing in the gazebo with my boyfriend. _Former_ boyfriend, that is."

She paused to take a long draw on her straw before continuing. "What else? David has been going through his awkward stage for about 10 years now. Dr. Hoffman continues to use our home as a free hotel. And me? I thought you'd never ask. No, I do not have a job, and no, I'm not going to college. My immediate plans are to continue my shallow, privileged existence."

"Okay."

"Is that all you have to say? Tell me some dirt. When did you come back to town? Cousin Barnabas missed his pool boy, I guess. And how does Julia feel about that, one has to wonder. What a cozy little trio you make."

"I don't know. I'm sorry, I'm not good at small talk."

"What are you good at?" She smiled suggestively.

"Not much," Willie shrugged. "Except getting in trouble."

"Now that sounds intriguing." Carolyn pushed her empty glass towards him. "I need another drink."

Apparently Ms. Stoddard needed to be completely tanked in order to justify spending time with someone like Willie Loomis. So he bought another round.

* * *

Three cocktails later, Carolyn was sitting in the intoxicated man's lap as they sucked face and otherwise expressed their mutual affection with little regard for discretion. Her hand wandered inside his shirt as the bartender tapped him on the shoulder.

"Do me a favor, get a room, please," Crystal snapped. "I would like to close up."

"Aww, the party's over." Carolyn lamented. "Party pooper! I don't want to go home."

"Well, I do want to go home so you can't stay here," the barmaid retorted with a disapproving glance at the couple. "This is not a motel."

Carolyn pulled her companion to his feet and staggered out the door. "Bob is a lot friendlier than you!" she called over her shoulder.

The couple made out in the middle of the street. "What now, Mr. Loomis? We can't go to my place, and we can't go to yours."

"Then we should get a room, like the lady said," ventured Willie. "I mean, I have one. A room. If you want."

So Carolyn and Willie made out in the lobby, going up the stairs and in the hallway. Willie pulled away just long enough to tumble the key in its hole.

Inside, they began to pull at each other's clothing, then switched to removing their own instead, to expedite matters. Willie fumbled with his sneakers as, with one zip, Carolyn's dress fell to the floor and she stood before her playmate wearing an ice blue, lace teddy. Pristine and petite, she was as stunning as Willie had always imagined her to be, and she sure knew how to present the goods. The young woman pulled off the hair tie and the world's most pampered hair cascaded to below her shoulders.

Willie allowed himself to be pushed backwards toward the bed and fell onto it. Carolyn unzipped his fly and removed the man's jeans, after which he pulled the girl down on top of him. Carolyn proceeded to confirm his long-held suspicion that she was a firecracker in the sack.

If this was a dream, Willie had no intention of waking up.


	32. The Climax

Willie awoke the next morning in unfamiliar surroundings beneath an avalanche of blonde hair and removed a few strands from his mouth. He lay awake, piecing together the events of the previous evening as Carolyn slept snuggled in his arms.

Holy Grail, it was his dream come true: that which he had made a top priority upon his first arrival in Collinsport—scoring with Princess Carolyn. Then again, the last time he got a girl drunk and horny, it ended in a shotgun wedding, which seemed like a grand idea at the time, but hadn't worked out so well in the end. It was pretty much a sure bet this little exploit wouldn't either.

Willie envisioned what would come next. The young woman would awake and slowly realize where she was and with whom. Disbelief and revulsion would creep over her face, followed by a scream of horror. The commotion would attract management and Willie would be tossed out the front door into the hands of the arresting sheriff.

Afterwards, _Kitten_ would report the incident to mommy and uncle, they would complain to Cousin Barnabas and the three would take turns using him for a punching bag. Who was he kidding? For an error of this magnitude—banging a Collins family member—the vampire would kill him without thinking twice, after which what remained of his body would be tossed out back to feed the bears.

Maybe Willie could sneak away before she woke up.

The young man was attempting to gently slide his arm from her embrace when the telephone rang with startling volume. He grappled for the receiver.

"Hello!"

"Good morning, Willie," Julia returned with no enthusiasm. "I hope at least _you_ got some sleep last night."

"Yeah, uh, some. What's going on?" the young man mumbled.

Carolyn awoke and reached up to brush the hair from his eyes. "Who are you talking to?" she asked.

"Nobody." But Carolyn didn't care to have her partner's attention diverted. She proceeded to rectify the situation with a mischievous smile and disappeared beneath the covers as her tongue navigated his naked body on a downward path. "Don't—stop! Not right now!"

"Who are you talking to?" Dr. Hoffman demanded as well.

"No one! It's Mr. Welles, the desk clerk, I think."

"Really?" she replied sarcastically. "Yes, that certainly would have been my first guess."

"Oh, no—you mean _that._ Somebody in the hall delivering room service."

Carolyn giggled from down under. "Room service coming up, sir! Time for breakfast."

Willie covered the mouthpiece and whispered fiercely. "Please! This is a business call. Give me a minute, will you?"

"Fine, Mr. Important Businessman." Carolyn's head popped up abruptly. "Time's up. I'll be in the shower if you want me," she announced, wrapping herself in the top sheet, and disappeared into the bathroom.

"Okay," Willie returned to his phone conversation. "Tell me what happened."

"Well, there's still no sign of Adam, but surely he must have expired by now. Barnabas has retired until sunset and I was hoping to get some rest now myself. Meanwhile, I'd like you to take over: continue the search today and recover the body."

Of course Julia and Barnabas were less concerned about the well-being of Adam and more worried about getting caught.

"What am I supposed to do with it?"

"Bring it back to the house, of course, and I'll see if I can get it pumping again. Then we will put this unfortunate episode behind us."

_What's it going to take for you to realize this whole scheme is bat shit crazy? You pull these stupid stunts, then expect me to clean up your mess. Well, I'm tired of you using people and I won't do it. Not this time. _

"Yes, ma'am." He hung up the phone.

Willie joined his date in the shower, relieved that she did not seem disconcerted by the previous night's escapades, and at the same time, wondering what that might imply. Carolyn was uncharacteristically quiet, noticing for the first time, the ugly, purple bruise Barnabas had left on his shoulder. She gently caressed the sore spot and kissed it better.

"Don't worry, I won't tell anyone," the man said with trepidation.

"Tell them what?"

"I figured you wouldn't want to be seen with me or anything."

"Why would you say that?"

"Most people around here don't."

"What do you think, I sit in bars looking for one-night stands like a drunken whore?" she started to cry angrily.

"Carolyn, no!" _Talk fast, Loomis._ "I just can't imagine your family would consider me suitable for someone like you. I bet someday you'll marry a doctor or professor, or maybe a famous actor."

"Well, so far that hasn't worked out very well, and I don't care what my family thinks. If I want to date a handyman from Skid Row, that's exactly what I'm going to do."

"I got to tell you up front, it ain't just that. I come with a lot of baggage."

She looked into his eyes through her tears. "So do I."

* * *

"Where to now? The diner?" Carolyn, once again cheerful, chirped as they emerged into the sunlit street.

"I-I'm sorry, I have to go to work."

"Oh no, mister, not before you buy me breakfast. Where are your manners?" Willie began to protest. "Cousin Barnabas will understand; I'll just explain you were doing an errand for me." She smiled with effervescence. "He adores me."

Maggie Evans glared at the couple as they seated themselves at a table for two, making obvious her disapproval that her ex-husband would show up at her place of work looking hung over, unshaven and had probably been in a recent barroom brawl. She audibly cleared her throat.

Willie hadn't seen his former wife since that Christmas night more than four years ago. She looked tired and thin, and the new hairdo aged the woman beyond her years.

"So, am I allowed in here?" Willie quietly asked the waitress. "There won't be any trouble, I promise."

"Of course you are!" Carolyn answered. "No hard feelings, right, Maggie? Just like when I was dating Joe and you stole him from me. We're all friends in this happy little community."

"Certainly," Maggie replied in a deliberate tone. "Two coffees?"

"Yes, please," the blonde woman giggled. "And a big stack of pancakes. I burned a lot of calories last night."

Willie suppressed a smirk. "Same," he muttered.

After the meal, the couple strolled to the Evans' cottage where, hidden from view, Carolyn and Willie watched his daughter play alone in the backyard. She held court over her collection of toys: a stuffed Tigger, Teddy Ruxpin and Cabbage Patch dolls, instructing them on the fine art of making mud pies. But it turned out they were not intended to be culinary creations but ammunition when the child loaded the dirtballs into a toy steam shovel and catapulted them into another toy who had apparently fallen from favor. Flaxen hair hung in her big brown eyes as she concentrated on carving designs in each patty with a twig.

Carolyn watched her companion staring at his little girl, unable to turn away.

"Talk to a lawyer. You may have to sue for visitation rights. I can recommend someone."

"Does he look like Humphrey Bogart?"

"Why, yes, he does."

"He already works for Maggie."

"Not any more. You forget I'm a Collins."

* * *

By late afternoon, Willie managed to get Carolyn safely deposited back at Collinwood so he could continue the search for Adam, but she had not been easy to dump. Upon hearing there was a possible prowler on the premises, the young lady was eager to procure her pistol and join the hunt. Carolyn was a live wire, in bed and out.

Willie's thoughts were scattered as he walked back to the Old House, torn between the wretched soul who had been his only friend and companion for the past two years, a naked blonde woman, and a hot tempered, headstrong little girl. No wonder Julia wanted to keep him in the house. One night away and shit and drama poured from the heavens.

Part of him wanted Adam to still be alive. Maybe he would listen to reason and Dr. Hoffman could put him back together. He could teach the creature to control his temper, learn him new words and good manners. That way Barnabas and Julia would let Adam stay awake and keep the caregiver company. The other part wondered if it would be more humane if the monster were dead. Let's face it, he should never have happened to begin with. Dead should stay dead. And God, or no God, some things just ain't right, and one of them is to use another living being without their permission for your own abominable purposes. That included rhinos and reanimated body parts and vampire slaves.

Willie left the shotgun at home and instead took the shovel. When he found Adam's body, the servant planned to bury it deep in the woods, then tell Julia it must have disappeared.

But maybe he wouldn't have to lie, for indeed the body was nowhere to be found. Willie hoped that he hadn't ventured beyond the estate. It would not be a good thing to have a pissed off monster boy stomp into the village. He searched everywhere for a clue: a trail of blood, or shit, or—oh, Christ, there it was: G.I. Joe's stained and decapitated head.

"Adam! Where are you? You need some help, buddy. Can we just talk, please?"

He finally located the creature at the crest of Widow's Hill. Adam had followed the sound of the ocean in search of the dead people. People like him.

"Hey, pal." Willie cautiously approached the miserable giant. "You don't look so good. I come to take you back home where Dr. Julia can fix you up."

But Adam was beyond being fixed up. His shirt and chin sported evidence that he had tried to ingest forest foliage which had subsequently been regurgitated. He pallor was a deathly gray, internal organs had all but shut down, and yet he continued—on God knows what.

"Adam hurt," the monster managed. "Adam…bad."

"No, it's okay," Willie reached toward the creature. "You're not bad, but you're real sick, and I want to help you, 'cause I'm your friend. You know that, right?"

Adam cried out in despair and threw his arms around Willie, squeezing with a last surge of strength.

"Hurt! Adam hurt bad!"

"Now Willie hurt. Big guy—you're crushing—" The young man felt one of his ribs crack and suddenly it became difficult to breathe. He struggled in the giant's grasp to no avail as his vision faded to gray and he passed out.

The sound of a gunshot rang out and the monster released his grip. He stumbled forward and dropped Willie who regained consciousness on the ground, gasping for breath.

Behind them Carolyn Stoddard stood staring down the barrel of her handgun, her hands shaking slightly, but prepared to fire at the perpetrator a second time.

"Stop," Willie gasped hoarsely. "It's okay—don't kill him."

"Move away, I have this covered," the woman replied with forced calm.

Adam crumpled to the ground with a thud and crawled to the precipice. He looked back to his caregiver in agony.

"Baby bird did not find his mother," he stated with resignation.

"Adam, it'll be okay…"

"No. The ending will always be the same." The monster allowed himself to fall over the cliff.

"NO!" Willie scrambled on his hands and knees to the edge in time to witness Adam's body ravaged by one boulder after another on a collision course to the ground floor. "Don't leave me…"

The young man collapsed onto his back and allowed the crook of his arm obscure the tears. Familiar with the discomfort of a broken rib, he breathed shallowly and moved with caution. When Willie peeked out from beneath his arm, Carolyn was standing in the same spot, holding the pistol, in a wide-eyed state of shock.

"Did you know that man?" she asked fretfully. "I didn't know what else to do; he was about to kill you."

"He didn't mean to—it's just that—never mind." Willie struggled to his feet. "It was for the best."

The gun fell from her hands.

"I didn't know what to do. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Shh." Willie took into his arms the trembling woman who had saved his life.

"What will happen now?" She rested her head on his shoulder. "I guess we have to call the police…and my lawyer."

Willie took the girl's face in his hands and gazed into her the lower depths of her cobalt eyes.

"If anyone deserves to go to jail, it ain't you. Nobody will ever know about this." He picked up the gun and the shovel, "I'll take care of it."

"But—"

"It's going to be alright, don't worry." Willie kissed the young woman. "Go home, say nothing, and pour yourself a stiff one. I have to go dig a hole."

She started down the path toward Collinwood, then turned back.

"Call me?"

He smiled with a sigh.

"Yes. I will call you. If that's want you really want, I will definitely call you." He clicked on the safety catch and tucked the pistol in her pocket. "Leave the gun at home next time."

* * *

Willie drove his truck down to the beach to search for the body but could find no clue as to its whereabouts. Clutching his throbbing ribcage, the exhausted man fell to his knees and collapsed onto the sun-warmed sand. He lay there for a long time, staring at the sky, listening to the surf, and contemplating his life. Eventually, Willie drifted off to sleep.

He awoke after twilight to the crackling roar of the bonfire and the cheerful chattering of ghosts in the distance. Willie approached the group to seek out his buddy, Jason, and little Sarah, but stopped frozen in his tracks, horrified. Flung into the flames were the roasted remains of a seven-foot body. Willie turned angrily to the crowd.

"Hey, what's the big idea, why would you—?

"I did it." The voice came from the other side of the bonfire. "Come, my friend, and sit by me."

The spectral visage of Adam smiled up at him, beckoning him over. Still sporting a gray pallor, it seemed to compliment the blue hue of lovely Jane Ackerman, nestled under his scarred arm. Willie joined the couple.

"I'm sorry about…the way things worked out," Willie ventured.

Adam patted the man's arm sincerely. "At last I am where I belong, with my many friends, and one special friend." Jane smiled shyly at him. "My body was burned so it could never be abused again by those ghouls you work for."

His companion shrugged. "They'll probably just build another one."

"It won't be easy. I destroyed the laboratory," the ghost chuckled. "You must leave that place or they will destroy you as well, bit by bit. If you stay there, you will die inside."

The Irishman nearby organized a sing-along with a haunting rendition of _I'll_ _Take You Home Again, Kathleen._

"I know. A couple of times I thought about cashing in my chips, but now I got someone important to care about."

"She is a lovely woman, although somewhat dangerous."

"Not her," Willie laughed. "Carolyn don't fool me. She'll dump me one of these days, like she dumped all her other boyfriends."

"Maybe you underestimate her, and yourself." The apparition shook his head. "You suffer from poor self-esteem, my friend."

"You're talking real good these days, aren't you?"

"Thanks to your influence."

"Me?" Willie looked askance. "I never talked like no dictionary, let alone teach it to somebody else."

"But you read the dictionary, I've seen you. And you read Shakespeare, so the knowledge is in locked up in there." He tapped Willie on the temple. "Remember what you used to say to me? Use your words."

They listened to the melodic strains from the phantom choir and the pops from crackling timber in the fire.

"_May flights of angels sing thee to thy rest."_ Willie stood and shook the spirit's hand. "There's stuff I need to do. Got to talk to Jason and the little girl. I did a lot of thinking today, and made some big decisions." He swallowed uncertainly. "I'm going to need their help."

Adam waved him away. "Then, go, follow your dreams—and don't be a chicken shit."


	33. You Say You Want a Resolution

Willie and Jason's ghost entered the Old House, where they first headed for the basement to fetch McGuire's sea chest. The Irishman has entrusted his partner with the extent of his earthly possessions so Willie couldn't leave it behind. Nothing much was in there: some clothes, personal effects, books—and a sizable stash of Collins family jewelry.

Jason discussed each piece with his pupil. After so many years, it was unlikely there would be continuing investigations; the insurance company had paid up and closed the case. Therefore, Jason emphasized, some of the jewelry could be easily disposed of on the open market, while others—unique or engraved items—should probably go through a dear friend of his who was experienced in such matters, otherwise known as a fence.

After Jason's departure, Willie proceeded to the second floor and peeked in the laboratory. Oh yeah, Adam had done a thorough job of trashing the place. The lab assistant kind of wished he had been there to help. The armoire was on its side, but Willie was able to salvage the library books from within, after which he went to his room and packed his duffle bag. When all his belongings were piled neatly in his pickup, Willie lit the parlor candles and swept up the broken glass from the window. Afterwards, he poured himself a small sherry, sat in the remaining wingback chair and awaited the return of Mr. and Mrs. Collins.

* * *

"Well, did you do as you were told?" Julia asked as Barnabas removed her wrap and hung it up. He then gestured to Willie that he should do likewise for his master. Willie folded his arms.

"It's time for us to have a little chat, you guys. First of all, yes, I found Adam; he wasn't dead but he sure is now."

"Did you bring back the body?"

The young man shrugged. "Couldn't. It got barbequed."

"I am waiting for you to take my cloak, boy," Barnabas scowled.

"Yes, you are." The servant poured himself another drink. "Okay, second: since I was only brought back here to babysit your blood bank, it seems I'm out of a job. So, to save you the trouble of firing me, I quit."

Julia smiled condescendingly. "My dear boy, you are a mental patient in my care. You either stay and work here or return to an insane asylum, and I told you, this time it won't be a nice place like Wyndcliff."

"My dear doctor," he returned mockingly. "You presented the hospital with a paper authorizing my release. It said, _fully recovered_ as I recall. Of course, what it didn't say is that I probably never would of have been there to begin with if you hadn't pumped me full of so many different drugs I didn't know what day it was. Maybe I should tell somebody about that, I don't know."

"Are you threatening to blackmail me, young man?" Julia wasn't smiling now.

"Yes," he replied simply. "It's a tactic I know you're familiar with. Just as you—" he nodded toward his former master, "like to use mind games and violence." Willie rose and sauntered to the fireplace, fingering the poker. An idle gesture, but perhaps a defensive one. Heart thumping in his chest, Willie plowed ahead as his voice began to crack slightly with emotion. "It feels messed up to say this, but you're the best thing that ever happened to me. I figure if it weren't for you I'd be dead now or in prison. That's why I came back, do you remember? When you were real old and Julia had a nervous breakdown, I saved you. Stupid, imbecile Willie saved your damn life.

"The _really_ stupid part is I tried to do good, so you would like me, maybe even respect me. But I can't do it no more. Nobody can live like this without going crazy!" He threw the poker into its holder. "One minute you're nice and kind, talk to me like I was your son, then, like some schizo, you turn around and beat the crap out of me and treat me like dirt. If I stay here, I'll never get my self-esteem."

Barnabas, dumbfounded in the doorway, finally found his voice.

"Respect is not an entitlement, boy, it must be earned. And you speak as if the option of leaving my service is within your parameters," the vampire smirked. "You've obviously been tippling my sherry."

"Well, that's another thing, and this might come as a shock to you, mister." Willie shoved his hands in his pockets to stop them from shaking. "I don't belong to you, and I'm _not_ your slave, because this ain't 1795 and you can't own another person. I am also not your pimp or your whipping boy or your lap dog or your chew toy." The servant raised his voice in anger. "What the hell made you think it was okay to treat me or any other human being like that? Adam was not the monster, you're the monsters, both of you!"

The vampire was close to losing his temper when Julia patted her husband's arm.

"Willie, you're being irrational," Dr. Hoffman responded with her unnerving calm. "You can't blame Barnabas for getting antagonized when you constantly provoke him with your foolish actions."

The young man stood his ground. "Nobody deserves to be treated bad."

"You've forgotten that Barnabas kept you out of jail when you kidnapped your wife and paid the medical bills for three years after you tried to kill yourself. You were absolutely right when you said if it weren't for Barnabas you would be dead or in prison."

"Either one would be better than this. You know, I had a chance for a happy, normal life with Maggie, but you took that away. I didn't even mind being at Wyndcliff, but you took that away too."

"Are you going to take my cloak or not?" Barnabas demanded.

"Oh my god, give me your fucking coat." Willie snatched the master's outerwear and flung it on the floor. "Do you have any idea how ridiculous you look in that thing? It's summertime, for crissake."

The vampire could tolerate such insolence no longer and raised his walking stick, prepared to strike. Willie held his breath and clenched his jaw but he did not flinch.

"Brother, stop that right now! You must not harm my friend."

Julia backed away, gasping hoarsely as the translucent visage of little Sarah Collins floated in through the broken window.

"Sister!" Barnabas turned, his cane suspended in midair, as she approached him, her hand outstretched. The vampire relinquished his walking stick, whereupon the little girl whacked him across the knees with it.

"Hitting is bad, Barnabas."

Willie summoned every ounce of self-control to keep from laughing out loud.

"I'm—overwhelmed that you have finally appeared to me," the vampire replied, wincing.

"I did not choose to before, and I will tell you why. Sit." The vampire dropped obediently into the nearest chair. "I was very, very angry with you. You were hateful to my friends, the pretty lady—"

"She means Maggie," Willie interpreted.

"Yes, and Willie," the ghost continued.

"But my dear," Barnabas bemoaned. "I am the master of this house. He is a servant to whom I pay an exorbitant salary and am repaid with defiance and deceit."

"If Willie does not please you, then you must dismiss him as he requested. Only then will I return to this house."

"But, child, you don't understand. I have special needs; he is vital to my existence."

"Nah, Barnabas," Willie chimed in. "It just means you'd have to get your own dinner. I'd go back to the Vampire Club if I was you. You'll be very popular there, you got voluntary victims, no more plastic bags and nobody gets killed. Right, kid?"

Sarah nodded in agreement.

"Or just maybe," Willie continued sarcastically, "Dr. Hoffman could do the honors. Sounds crazy but you know what, lady? You married a vampire and that's what vampires do. If he could have his own wife, maybe he wouldn't be bothering other people." Willie got in her face. "You're the one Barnabas wants, not me or anybody else. It's always been you."

That was a bullshit line and Willie knew it. She was at the end of the line after Josette, Maggie, Vicki, and probably several others. But it was something she would want to hear. After all, Barnabas and Julia were good for each other, needed each other, and, as a team, only occasionally dangerous to society.

Julia looked away blushing. "I didn't think…"

"You think too much, doctor. Why don't you and the bloodsucker try talking to each other once in a while? I bet there's a lot of stuff you'll find out."

"When Julia and I are in need of counsel from the likes of you, it will be a sorry day," Barnabas scoffed as he retrieved his coat from the floor. "Go, then. Get out of my house, you ungrateful reprobate. You have always been impudent, thoughtless and vulgar. In fact, I am well rid of you. I should have killed you long ago."

"Brother!" Sarah admonished him. "What is the saying you taught me?" The vampire looked away sullenly. "Well?"

"Don't make me recite that ridiculous rhyme." The spirit just folded her arms. "I don't recall the exact words. Something to the effect of wicked people are punished."

"So you must be good," Sarah concluded.

Willie regarded his corporeal bosses and the spectral sister. "Goodbye, Julia," he said. Dr. Hoffman patted his shoulder and then actually embraced him—briefly.

"Goodbye, Barnabas." The vampire gazed into the fireplace, sulking. Dejected, Willie turned and walked out of the Old House, never to return.

He was at the foot of the steps when Barnabas appeared on the porch.

"Boy!"

Willie froze. The vampire must have changed his mind. He was only a few feet from the pickup truck and contemplated the odds of making a run for it.

"Willie!" The young man turned to see his boss standing among the pillars. He trudged back up the steps, not quite to the top. "Where are you going?" Barnabas demanded, looking down at him.

"Please, I have to do this—"

"I merely inquired as to your plans. People will ask and I do not intend to appear foolish."

And so Willie told him. Not everything, for the boss would mock such lofty ambitions, but enough to satisfy the vampire's curiosity. Barnabas pulled out his billfold and handed the man a $100 bill.

"Your week's wages. I will not have you besmirching my name as a swindler."

"N-no, sir."

"I have no doubt this course of action has been poorly planned. What possible capital is at your disposal?"

"You mean money? I got savings in the bank."

"That will hardly be adequate, I'm sure." Barnabas pulled four more C notes from his wallet and thrust them at the young man. "How will it reflect upon me in the village when my former servant is seen to be in dire straits?"

Willie suppressed a smile. "I'm sorry, sir. Thank you."

"Therefore you will maintain proper care of yourself, am I understood?"

"Yessir, I will."

"Do not abandon your reading."

"No, sir."

The master looked into the face of his hapless servant.

_To thine own self be true._

_Yes, sir._

Barnabas reached out to pat Willie's head, but the servant ducked away and held out his hand instead. Begrudgingly the vampire accepted it.

"May good fortune attend your endeavors," were the young man's parting words, after which he strode to the dirty white pickup in his most dignified manner.

* * *

Willie checked back into his room at the Collinsport Inn and crossed off the first item on his list. Then the young man telephoned his girlfriend to say that he was thinking about her. She offered to join him, but Willie begged off. He had much to do in the morning and needed a good night's rest.

An hour later, there was a knock at the door. Willie hesitantly peeked out to discover Carolyn standing at his threshold with a bag of take-out Chinese food and an overnight valise.

"Hi, I was in the neighborhood and thought I'd stop by. Hope you're hungry." The blonde bounced into his room.

"Do you always get everything you want?" Willie stood in the doorway.

"Let's find out. I want you to give me a big kiss and say thank you for bringing this delicious Chinese food."

Willie took the girl into his arms and gave her a big kiss. "Thank you for bringing this delicious Chinese food. Wait, it depends on what you got."

"Happy Family, extra spicy with triple noodles."

"Okay, I officially love you now."

The young woman smiled. "That's all I wanted to hear."

Dinner, however, remained in the bag while Carolyn and her boyfriend made love. The couple then enjoyed a respite of Asian cuisine before indulging in a second round in the sack.

That night the former servant did not have his usual nightmare. He dreamt that he and his lovely blonde wife and daughter were frolicking at the beach, surrounded by his favorite people, living and dead.

* * *

The following day, Willie kissed his girl goodbye and visited the bank, the barbershop, the high school, a preschool and the used bookstore. At the library, he returned all the books, paying a hefty overdue fine. While he was there, the young man perused the want ads in the _Collinsport Star_. Later, he stopped by the law office of Anthony Peterson where the attorney invited him in with a pleasant smile and handshake. Carolyn Stoddard had phoned ahead to say he was coming.

The second day, Willie drove to Bangor where he had an appointment at Central Maine Auction Center, an establishment with an exceptional reputation for handling estate jewelry. Previous to their meeting, he had patronized a men's clothing store, where he purchased a dark gray suit, white shirt and tie. A red tie like Barnabas owned. Next he invested in shiny black shoes, a tan trench coat and a cowhide briefcase. Outside on the sidewalk, Willie tossed his torn leather jacket into the nearest trashcan.

On the day after that, Willie drove to Wyndcliff Asylum in response to the help-wanted ad and filled out an application for employment. At the opposite end of the reception area a leggy lady had her nose buried in a bridal magazine. She looked up. He looked up. They regarded each other for a moment with looks of slight bewilderment.

"Jackie?"

"Cupcake?"

The two dropped their things and crashed into each other for a bear hug.

"You got all better. What happened?" Willie was delighted to see his friend smiling and confident once more.

"Someone decided dear old Dr. Ned was not qualified to make a recommendation concerning my treatment. My evaluation was completed and they released me back into the unsuspecting world."

"Then why are you here?"

"Picking up my sweetie for dinner. That son of a bitch Mark dumped me, and took the dog, but I got me a better deal."

"Unhand my woman!" A booming bass voice rang out. Willie spun around to see a grinning Leroi in his civilian clothing, standing in the doorway. "And you, miss, stop flirting with every handsome guy you see."

"Now, I was just sitting here waiting for you to get off duty," Jackie smacked him playfully. "I can't help it if no man can resist my honey."

Willie whispered to Jacqueline as her boyfriend signed out at the desk.

"So, did you finally do it? Get your sex change operation, I mean?"

"Why don't you take a peek and see for yourself."

"Uh, that's okay. I know better than to disrespect Leroi." The large black man laughed. "Now you finally got a girlfriend tall enough for even you."

Willie declined their invitation to join the couple for dinner but took a rain check. He had a job interview to attend.

* * *

Willie sat in the guest chair opposite the hospital administrator's desk as Dr. Gordon perused his application.

"I'm glad to see you doing so well, Mr. Loomis. You look more like a businessman than a custodian, which is our only opening at present. May I ask why you're no longer with Mr. Collins?"

"I want to expand my horizons, and Barnabas and Julia thought it was a grand idea; they both wrote me really nice letters of recommendation, which I got right here." Willie had prepared that response. "I can do this, sir. I know my work history isn't much, but I know all about plumbing and I was a machinist on several ships. I can fix anything."

"Perhaps you should set yourself a higher goal."

"Oh, I got one of those too. You see, this is just the first step. I want to work here during the day and go back to school at night to get that thing that's like graduating from high school. Then I hope you'll consider—my proposal."

"Really?" The doctor smiled. "And what is that?"

"I got it all written down." He pulled a paper with neat printing from his briefcase. "I want to be a therapist. There's patients here who don't know how to read or write very good and I could teach them. And there could be a session in the library for book discussions. Only (look where I put a note there) no Stephen King or Shakespeare books. There's way too much violence and I don't think some of the patients could handle it. You see, I thought of that."

Willie had the doctor's attention and continued. He was on a roll, and willed his left leg to stop bouncing.

"Another idea is a woodworking class. I apprenticed onboard ship with a master carpenter named Otto Zimmerman and I'm pretty good. Now I know you don't want these folks handing tools, but I think they could, some of them, in A Ward maybe. They might like to carve, plane, sand and stain. It's very therapeutic."

"I'm not sure the board would go along with that one; they have a pretty strict policy about tools." Willie looked crestfallen. "May I keep this?"

"Yessir. I thought someday I could talk to patients who were abuse victims and suicide survivors. People with Stockholm Syndrome and PTSD. Do you have to go to college to do that?"

"Most of our therapists have masters' degrees but we also hire assistants with as little as a two-year associate diploma."

Willie frowned. "There goes that idea. I'm not even sure I can handle this high school stuff."

"If you were bright enough to pull some of the antics you did as a patient here, I think you'll do fine. Why don't you just take it one step at a time?" Willie nodded as the administrator stood and extended his hand to shake. "Welcome back to Wyndcliff."

"Just one thing." The new employee was hesitant to make a negative comment at this juncture but felt he had no choice. "Dr. Ned and me don't get along, and I don't want to cause any trouble."

"Ah, yes. Well, Ned Stuart is no longer with us. The directors asked for his resignation some time ago. The board received a letter—from Barnabas Collins in fact—that sparked an investigation into some questionable practices."

"Oh, yeah. I remember that letter. I mailed it for him," Willie responded, wondering if the doctor suspected the truth, which was that his former patient had forged the document.

"It was a very strange letter. Is Mr. Collins somewhat—eccentric?"

Willie made a drinking gesture to imply that his former employer had a problem with alcohol.

"But don't say anything. Dr. Julia is real sensitive about it."


	34. The End

**September 1986**

All the items on Willie's list had been crossed off, except for the last one, and for that, he waited until Sunday when the diner would be closed. Again dressed in his new suit, with briefcase in hand, he knocked on the door of the Evans' cottage. Maggie answered in her pajamas.

"Willie Loomis, leave me alone, please! I won't make a public scene at my restaurant but you are not welcome in this house. We have nothing to discuss." She started to close the door, but the young man blocked it with his hand. Maggie withdrew, gasping slightly, and reached behind her for the hammer on her pop's worktable.

"We got a lot of things to discuss, but we can do it here in the doorway if you insist."

She regarded her former husband in his executive ensemble with skepticism. "I don't know if I can trust you."

"I just want us to talk, like civilized persons."

The woman turned from the threshold with a sigh and retreated to the nearby sofa where her father was sprawled out for a nap. She perched on the far edge of the couch as Willie closed the door behind him and slid into the nearby armchair.

"Thank you," the young man said quietly.

The couple looked sadly at each other for a long moment as Sam snored between.

"We can never go back, Willie."

"I know that; I understand." He gripped his briefcase; this was more difficult than he had planned. "Deep down part of me is always going to love you, I can't help it, 'cause we went through a lot together, stuff you don't even remember, but I'll never forget. You told me, don't ever forget."

"Okay, Willie," she starred at him warily. "I don't know what you're talking about again."

"That's not because I'm crazy, it's because there's stuff you don't—it don't matter anymore. That part's over now, and it's time to move on."

"To who? Carolyn Stoddard?" A little, sarcastic smile crept across her face. "Do you really think that will last?"

Willie shrugged, a little indignantly. "That's none of your business, just like it's none of my business to wonder about your relationship with Joe Haskell...and why in all these years he still never married you."

"That's—Okay, there's—Why were you stalking me and harassing Joe and plying my Pop with alcohol?" she countered, abruptly changing the subject.

"Sorry about that. You know, Joe was right, I never shoulda interfered with your life. Barnabas always said I was selfish, and it's true. I knew you never really loved me; I just wanted you to."

"That is unfair," Maggie's jaw set with increasing intensity.

"Stop pretending. You left me when I needed help."

"You left me first when you became a drug addict and refused to see a doctor because you wanted to spend more time in your big mansion with the Collins royalty."

"I was in a hospital for 2½ years, for crissake. I begged you to come and visit, just once. I needed you so bad."

"I had a little baby, I couldn't!" she hollered. "Don't you think I felt responsible when you cut yourself? I drove to the hospital on Christmas night and sat by your bed for two days while you slept. Dr. Hoffman finally made me leave when I demanded to know why they were feeding you so many drugs when you had just overdosed. Sometimes I think there's something not quite right about her and Mr. Collins."

"It's possible," Willie conceded.

"The next day they transferred you to the other facility without telling me. The doctors there said you were catatonic and wouldn't know me." Her voice cracked with emotion as she rose and began to pace the room. "Around that time the pregnancy developed complications and I was ordered to bed."

"I never heard from you, not that I know of, until that lawyer showed up asking for a divorce."

"It was to apply for a bank loan to buy the restaurant. That stupid diner! I would have had to disclose your financial information and I didn't…I didn't know if you were ever going to leave there."

Maggie began to cry and Willie rose and approached her. Instinctively, she raised the hammer but the young man backed off abruptly. Angry at herself, she tossed it onto the coffee table with a thud.

"Who's at the door?" Sam roused from the sofa.

"No one, Pop, come on." she pulled Pop to his feet and led him to his bedroom. "Finish your nap in there."

"But Loomis is here. He always buys me a drink. Hi, Loomis!" Sam waved over his shoulder.

Maggie tucked in her father and returned, leaning wearily on the doorframe. "Would you like some coffee?"

"Yes, that would be nice." Willie was reseated and was gripping his briefcase once again. Maggie disappeared briefly into the kitchen.

The young man stared at the ceiling and inhaled deeply. _Shit, _that was about as easy as walking on glass. In less than two minutes, the civilized conversation had disintegrated to bitter complaints and hurling hammers. And Willie had yet to broach the subject he had come to discuss.

When Maggie returned with two steaming mugs, Willie was reading through a small stack of papers retrieved from his briefcase. He shook off grains of sugar from in between the pages.

"I won't take up much more of your time," he said in his most business-like manner. "I know this is your day off."

"Why did you come, Willie?"

The young man swallowed. "I'm here to see my daughter."

"Oh, no." Maggie shook her head. "I'm not comfortable with that."

Willie thrust a document at her. "I am fully recovered; it says so right here, signed by a doctor. I'm not dangerous or a psycho, don't take any more drugs." He kept control of his emotions. "I'm a different person, more responsible."

Maggie broke into an encouraging smile. "You look terrific, you really do. Stopped dressing like a teenager, your speech has improved so much, but, I just can't, Willie, it's too soon."

The man took a deep breath. "Samantha is my daughter and I'm legally entitled to visitation, unless you can prove to a judge that I'm an unfit father. Now if you want to challenge me in court over this, go ahead, but it'll be very expensive, and I can afford a much better lawyer than you can, especially with your bank loan problems. So, for your sake, I suggest we settle this between ourselves, okay?"

Maggie looked at him with skepticism. "When did you become a millionaire handyman? Did you rob a gas station, or is Carolyn bankrolling you?"

"I, uh, inherited it. I earned it. I found it buried in the basement. Don't matter, it's got my name on it." Willie dove back into the briefcase. "Here's the plan: I work at my new job during the day and go to school at night, so I want Sammi on weekends." He handed his ex-wife two checks. "The first one is for you to make sure she has everything she needs. Good food, nice clothes and real toys. The second is made out to Kinder Academy where I signed her up for preschool."

"But—"

"You're too busy with your job to spend enough time with your own kid so your pop ends up watching her." He slammed the briefcase closed. "Well, my daughter is not going to be raised by a depressed drunk, do you hear? Because I know how that works out. A person needs a father. She's going to school and make friends, and I'll send them a check every month to pay for it. And if you decide to go out on a date with pretty boy, I want you to ask Vicki Winters to come babysit. Otherwise, call me and I'll skip class and do it myself. Those're my rules, or I'll see you in court."

Maggie stared into her coffee.

"Sammi is in the back yard," she said quietly.

From beyond the back door there was a scuffle of sound as someone fled into the garden.

* * *

Willie silently wandered the rear yard. There were several places in which someone could hide, and a clever kid like Sammi would know them all. She was finally located in the hollow trunk of a tree. Willie sat precariously on the table portion of a toddler-sized plastic picnic bench nearby.

"So, how about if you come on out of there before you get dirty," Willie remarked casually.

"I'm dirty now."

"Come out anyway. I got something for you."

"What is it?"

"Come out and see."

The child emerged cautiously, wearing a dirty tee shirt and scruffy overalls. "I know who you are. You're Willie," she sneered as if it were a dirty word.

"I saw you listening at the door. I'm your dad, but you can call me Willie if you want."

"I haveta look after my Pop Pop. I don't wanna go to school."

"Sure you do. I checked it out, it's a really nice place. They got swings and sandboxes and finger paints and a real live rabbit. Lot more fun than sitting around here all day."

"What'd ya bring me?" Willie opened his briefcase and produced the beginner reader books purchased from the used book store. The child looked disappointed. "What'd you buy them for?"

"I'm going to teach you how to read." The child laughed at the foolish notion. "So, what're you now, two years old?"

"I'm four, you jerk!" Sammi huffed indignantly, swinging her little blonde braids.

"Wow, four years old and still can't read." Willie shook his head. "That's just sad. Well, it's probably too late now. I guess you weren't smart enough."

"Gimme!" The girl grabbed a book and sat crossed-legged on the ground. She flipped through a couple of pages then tossed it away in frustration.

"Now, don't be like that, give it a chance." He motioned the girl over and pointed to a selection of words. "Here's some I'll learn you right now. Cat. Hat. Mat."

"That's easy."

"Then how about if you draw a circle every time you see them three and next week we'll do more, okay?"

Sammi folded her arms. "Maybe." She studied the grown man sitting on her picnic table. "Mommy doesn't like you and Uncle Joe doesn't like you neither," she remarked matter-of-factly.

"I know. But I was hoping you and me could be friends."

"You're too bossy and I don't like your clothes and you have a funny nose."

"Well, you're awful little for four years old."

"Am not little. I'm big. Big bad Sam!" She showed Willie her fist.

Her dad shrugged. "You look scrawny to me. Are you getting enough cookies?"

The child carefully considered her response. "I don't think so."

Willie nodded in agreement. "That's what I figured." He produced from his case a large yellow sugar cookie secured in a paper pocket. "This is the good kind, from a bakery."

"What's it for?" Sammi cautiously took the treat.

"This is what you call a big ole' bribe. I give you cookies, and then you'll like me better." Willie pulled a wet nap from his breast pocket and ripped open the package. "But let's get your hands clean first. Nobody wants muddy cookies." Sammi allowed the man to wipe off her grubby fingers. "If you're cool with the idea, I'd like it if we spend our weekends together from now on. I got ideas for a lot of fun things we can do."

The child's eyes lit up. "What?"

"First trip will be to Portland. We're going to visit my friend there who is a dentist for kids. His name is Dr. Stanley. Have you ever been to a dentist?" Sammi shook her head. "Then you probably have nine cavities. Now that part may not be fun, so afterwards we'll all go to an ice cream parlor for lunch, then to the art museum to look at post impressionists. See, you're going to need some ideas to paint when you go to school. We'll have dinner at a Chinese restaurant where I'll show you how to use chopsticks and say words in Mandarin. Have you ever had a cooked frog?"

"No!"

"Do you want to?"

"Yes!" she giggled. "And worms! What else?"

"Well…there was a lot of things I didn't have time to do when I was a kid, what with studying and violin lessons, so I thought you could help me out."

"How?"

"On some other days I thought we could see a ball game, and a play with live music, and go to the zoo and a bowling alley and mini golf and the movies—oh, but not the circus," he added with a hint of parental authority.

The girl pouted. "Why not the circus?"

"Because you'll be scared of the clowns, like your mommy was."

"I'm not scared of nothing! I'll kick their clown butts!"

Willie laughed out loud. "I bet you will." He almost reached out to hug the girl, but she wasn't ready to and moved away, after which the man took care to maintain a respectful distance. Besides, he was never good at the hugging thing anyway.

Sammi pointed to his briefcase. "What else is in there?"

"More presents for when you're older."

"Can I see?"

"Sure." He pulled out his childhood book. "This is called _Peter Pan_. It's about a little boy who refused to grow up so he flew away to live in a magical place. And these—" he held up a pair of sapphire and diamond earrings "are for you to wear. Unless I run out of money, then they'll pretty much pay your college tuition."

"I already have pretty earrings," the girl replied nonchalantly. From within the tree trunk she produced a cigar box of treasures, and inside were the emerald earrings Willie had tried to give to Maggie years ago but ended up tossing in a snow drift.

"Where did you find those?" her father asked, astonished.

"Digging in the dirt out front. Kinda beat up but they're still pretty, huh? They're my pirate treasure."

"Does your mom know about them?"

"Oh no, don't tell her, she'll take them away. They're mine! I found them myself!"

"I will never tell your secret. Cross my heart and hope to die. But now you got two pairs, so you can wear one and sell one."

"Yours are prettier. Can I have them now?"

"Nope. They're too big for you and might pull your ears off."

Sammi held up the emeralds. "When I sell these, I'm gonna get a hundred dollars and then buy red ones too. I want the blue ones now."

"When you're older."

"How much older?"

"Twenty-seven."

"What!"

"You're almost 26 now, right?"

"I'm five!"

"A minute ago you were four. Did a birthday go by that I missed?" Willie looked under the table for a missing birthday. "Tell you what. You can have them when you're 10. Deal?"

"Deal." The two shook on it.

Father and daughter talked away the afternoon. They played Barbies, had a tea party and banished that creepy Teddy Ruxpin from their social circle after dad dissuaded the child from beating it with a stick. Sammi and the Cabbage Patch dolls put on a concert with songs and dances to an appreciative audience of one. Maggie watched silently from the kitchen window while listening to her pop snore from the next room. At length, the little girl tired and crawled into her daddy's lap.

"Willie, tell me a story."

"I don't know…"

"Go on, sure you do." She poked him, barely missing the cracked rib.

"Uh…Once upon a time…" he thought for a moment. "Yeah, once upon a time there was a carpenter who lived in a log cabin in the woods, because well, that's a smart place for carpenters to hang out. One day he married a real nice lady and they had a daughter who was a beautiful princess and knew how to fly. She played with Indians and swam with mermaids and fought pirates whenever they raided the forest..."

"Wait." The girl interrupted, baffled by the implausibility of his premise. "How can a princess have a daddy who's a carpenter?"

Willie sighed dramatically. "Obviously he was an _enchanted_ carpenter who had defeated evil vampires and witch doctors when he was young."

"Okay, so what happened?"

Her daddy shrugged. "They lived happily ever after."

"That's it? That's the end?"

"Not at all." Willie wrapped his arms around his daughter and gazed at the setting sun. "That was just the beginning."

**The End**

A/N: Thus endeth the Willie Loomis World Series. Thank you, readers and reviewers for sharing this time with me. And a extra big thanks to my faithful beta for plowing through the rough drafts. I had a blast writing and hope you enjoyed reading it. I'm going to miss writing Willie fic, but I think the story is over (I've been trailing this guy for 30 years) and it's time to bring down the curtain. Will probably revisit old stories next and clean up the typos. Au revoir.


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